i move "like a tree moving in and out of windows"

i spent this weekend hanging out with ml, trying to make up for being sad, grumpy, angry, and otherwise notsosocial this summer, only to realize i'm still not past this, whatever it is (i haven't ruled out a quarter life crisis, tho i've yet to buy a vespa)
last night was a night spent fighting computers to make a mix, and today i spent with her and fighting computers to get my pc running
so here's to fighting for our lives (clanks glass with yours, drinks, pauses and looks drearily out the darkened window)
and this poem, which is about nothing of the sort

Making Mixes at Night

charmed, i am
by the sound of hope
bouncing out of someone else's
piano-dancing fingers, drenched
in the mechanized gear-crunching noise,
pouring into my cochlea labyrinths
until i cannot sleep
for want of someone to hold
dear

darling, dear, words i don't speak,
but i think in five dimensions of color
colliding with a textured intergalactic woven
mat, rising in the not-so-outer space
of dark, good night; remembering friends instead
of love stimulates more than sound. i think
i miss you now like i should have missed you then