Boxes of thoughts and bundles of words I would like to say. I'll hold them close and tuck you away into the darkest corner of my mind. You are never to be said nor seen nor heard by anyone that would care. Moments of time that will not survive the night. You come to me so strong, preying on vulnerability, but you are nothing more than a siren of feeling. You lure me in, and yet I know if I follow then I will only meet a more despondent state than I experience in this moment. We've been here before, you and I, but you know? We're all each other has. In the end we are alone, fighting the ghosts of what appear momentarily so important.

No one cares. We don't even care. We just think we do. It will soon pass and we will return to that much more common human state of indifference.

Places in Me

How can you know, where the real ends and the imagined begins. The lines are so blurry and the real... well, it always seems to startle me with a slap to the face. I'm reminded of my out-of-touchness so harshly, which makes the real seem bitter and cold. What I want and what I think I should want are so out of sync. What I think other's want... such a mystery. I have absolutely no idea anymore. As if I once knew?

How to fix this this brokenness, this out of sync....ness. I feed off of feelings, off of my response to your being against mine. I want the intensity of feeling that can happen only with another like me, perhaps at the cost of inventing a story to create that someone who is flesh, who is me, but is not me. Someone as close to me as my mind will let me dream up.

I'm absolutely terrified that in the end, everyone leaves. Dreams won't.