Clutching hard to these lasts fragments of a dream like a fistful of glitter in the wind. Cheeks red and eyes puffy, face still sticky and tear-stained. I’m trying to pinpoint it. This morning I feel like a collage of vacation photos; space-fillers for an actual memory, actual feelings. I feel like big kool-aid smiles fixed in waxy Polaroids, of family reunions I didn’t attend. I feel like a drifter in my own life; stopping occasionally to observe others feeling, appreciating and living theirs. Standing in the face of my own honesty, the abyss looks into me. I just keep singing my version this one lil’ Drake line (Doing it Wrong) “Cry if you need to, but I can’t stay to hear you, it’d be the wrong thing to do. Cause you say ‘I love you.’ and I’ll end up lying, and say I love you too.” I don’t feel like something is missing. I feel missing. But not important enough to trouble your milk cartons, to annoy you with Facebook posts of a young girl missing, but too old to be lost. Have you seen me? Yes, I’m sure you have. But I haven’t… not for a while.