HERE I LIE, WASTING AWAY AT THE DREGS OF A FROZEN WATER BOTTLE.

Poetic?
I think not.
We've been stuck here for what appears to be months, though in all relativity, is simply a mere three hours. Three hours. Never before have three hours so jovially deterred my thought, my sanity, my very vitality.
And the worst news is yet to come: I'm stuck with the lovebirds.
And they won't stop nuzzling.
The word itself reigns in sympathy from my entrails to my eyes.
"I don't want to be here," she says.
Nor do I, you maroon buffoon.
Nor do I.
[Editor's Note: I was editing grammar, and I've continued to type some new thoughts, so, let's just roll with it.]
I've been focused upon one person for the last few days. And maybe it's all because of my rendezvous to the Photo Shop, but something screams that there lies more to it. He didn't travel for his own sanity. I think he left for a reason, and I wonder what that reason will prove to be.
I'm not sure exactly what kind of person he's become. Or what kind of person he's becoming, right now, as I speak (type). He could prove a stranger. He could prove the change I need. I'm not sure which would prove more efficient a distraction.
God, I wish I could channel these thoughts in a more responsive way. I wish I knew what words could adequately define the obsession, the longing, the gripping enthusiasm that I rarely experience beyond the parameters he encompasses.
You know what they say: If wishes were horses...
Strong, powerful beings, restless, longing, and clinging to their instincts alone. Yes. Horses.
My wishes are horses, galloping, proud, fearless and dominant horses. Willful. Pioneering. Passionate.
Fiery.