I would like to pretend that work is all consuming and that it eats into my me-time. Which it does to an extent. But my world is shifting, my rock is leaving. The shift is irrevocable in nature. I'm not sure how to react. I'm going to be devastated, I'm going to miss him. It's like losing your collective memories of eating Gems. Which makes no sense to you, but I guess I can't explain.
My entire family, it's like we're holding in our breath, bracing for the punch. We're not sure what it will be like, we're happy and optimistic and we're proud. Everything is bittersweet :)
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I wish to lay my soul bare. Suggestions will be appreciated. I'm grateful yo :)

W

The day flies off without me

The planes bound for all points everywhere
etch lines on my office window. From the top floor
London recedes in all directions, and beyond:
the world with its teeming hearts.

I am still, you move, I am a point of reference on a map;
I am at zero meridian as you consume the longitudes.
The pact we made to read our farewells exactly
at two in the afternoon with you in the air
holds me like a heavy winter coat.

Your unopened letter is in my pocket, beating.

- John Stammers

Pins, ash and an exquisite corpse.
The downy feel of your poem.

Omg TWO!

There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He's told us not to blow it
Cause he knows it's all worthwhile
He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie.

I couldn't bring myself to post till now. Now I feel like I need to purge a bit, even though this never really hits upon what I really think might need purging. But it makes me feel better. It helps me focus when I shut my eyes, I don't have a million things clamouring to be thought about.
For starters, I love work. Turns out being an adult isn't the way I thought about it. I think I'd die if I wasn't suitably intellectually challenged. It's wonderful and wonderfully essential to have purpose. To feel useful.
My beautiful darling man nourishes my soul. If not for him, all this purpose garbage would have no meaning. He is the caffeine in my coffee, the soft clacking noise of my keyboard.
I miss my colours. The new colours are understated. I appreciate their charm as well, but it's not the same. I miss the vibrancy, the pungency, the sheer bodiliness of mine. I miss the cheek of mine.
My new commute is going to involve long trips in the dark in a freezing car, which is as comfortable as I could wish it to be. I've decided this will be my time. My quiet time, with my good friends John, George, Ringo and Paul. It's been a while since I hung out with them and I miss them. Other times, it'll just be quiet. For my mind to slowly dissolve into me. Like sugary poison.
I want twilight music. Music that is soft and dusty and wistfully purple. With soft chirping noises of content birds and the intense longing for the person you love to come home to you. Music that breathes and sighs and yearns and waits.

Now I write letters to Australia
Now I throw bottles out to sea
I whisper the secret in the ground
No one's gonna take you away from me