day speak illiterate

It's another quiet morning. The dreams of yesterday are awake this morning, earnest in their yearning. I can't seem to get the room right and I want to get rid of everything. Even the dampness of the early air and the autumn leaves recreate a distant world in which I may have once resided. A different history could have yielded different results. I have built a dream and can taste the dusty resentments. The equation never seems to come out right no matter how much I do the math. The usual suspects of reality and fantasy seem to blur where retrospect and reality mix and I am left uncertain, caught in the unfortunate safety of another day. I can't be honest, I can never be honest. It's never changing and I understand that, lost and gone forever.