I know you are lonelySometimes I cannot live another day. I get up, drink coffee and get on with it. I tell myself, At least put on a brave face. But this doesn't take courage. It takes fear.
When I was a child, I thought I was from some distant planet and my people had left me here to moulder among a species I could never understand. Now I know. I know you feel this way too, when you strip away what you think makes you. I know you are a howling void just like me and if you stop for a moment being who you are, you too will implode and become no one.
I know you believe stories that you cannot question because the alternative is a solitude deeper than you can bear. I believe them too.
Asking how I got here drives me crazy. Asking what road I took implies there was another. There was no other. One day I was not here and the next I was and there was no choice because there is no choice in anything.
Reach out to me, sometimes I say. Reach out to me and share my skin. No one has. Why would anyone want to reside in here? I know I don't. It's the only thing I know for sure.
My new year's resolution is to do nothing, be nothing, to cease to exist. This being isn't working but I cannot have a new one.
How many times have I imagined that I would one day grow? As though there were a template, a thing I could grow into. But there are only accretions, wrapped too tight around a void I am perpetually terrified to confront.
Sometimes when I sit down to write something, I don't know what I will say but I know I will tell the truth. I know it because I don't care who disapproves. No one can think less of me than me.
I do not even think I am here. I know you are lonely but are you afraid?
Sometimes I say, cmon baby, I did not do the things you think I did. And I'm not even sure that's true because if you think it, what else can I have done?
Sometimes I say, love me. And I know all I mean is wrap me up tightly, make me be real, touch me so that I know not everything outside me will hurt me.
All I mean is I want to fool you into making an empty shell mean something, just like we did as children when we held them up to our ears and thought we could hear the sea. The sea never spoke. It turned and moved on. It never said a word and never will until the day it says, Enough.