Wildcat Creek Journal

I wake this morning, to find your scent still lingering on my skin. With sleep in my eyes, I try to shake the heady buzz from the hours of being entwined with you the day before. I feel your residual energy flowing all around me. I step into the shower just to feel the rivulets of water wash over my body. You are all I can think about this morning, and I know that I will not find peace until I return to your side. I am completely, utterly, and desperately obsessed with you. When I look upon you, I am captivated. I am enamored by your beauty, by your natural sensuous movements. I follow every curve, trace all of your soft edges with my eyes, immerse myself in the rise and fall of your breath. You whisper mysteries known only to the deepest parts of my consciousness, and the narrative you speak to my heart is as old as the earth. I have watched you suffer mistreatment at the hands of so many before. You have been taken advantage of, used and abused, stripped of your purity. I

I finished the last of my coffee and read through some notes on scraps of paper in a shoebox by my chair. These scraps of paper I would empty out of my pockets when I got home from work most days. On these scraps of paper, I would jot down notes; sometimes single words that I would snatch out of the air to use at a later time, poems, entire stories, notes to people that I never intended to share with them.  Someday, I hope to either put some of these odds and ends together, or add them to a burn pile just so I can fill the box again. I read through things like this when I can't bring myself to write. Sometimes it helps to clear the fog, to lift my mood. Sometimes not. It comes and it goes. After a couple of hours moping around in a melancholic fog, I decide I need to get out of the house. It was 40 degrees and overcast, not the conditions I normally consider good fishing weather, but I could care less. It had been so long, I wasn't sure of what condition my fly boxe