I sat on a table of
old friends

and old conversation and

five years ago

I am not today who

I was

Five years ago.

But the conversation

five years old

without a speck of

difference

and I 

stained 

and 

tainted

by a hundred million

specks 

of it.

The conversation

took me

five years back 

and it was horrid

and scary
and all too familiar.

It reminded me

of my

failure 

in Love

and 

Friendship.

Because 

I

would have 

laughed

would have

spoken

should have

fallen in

Love

by now. 

I would have laughed 

would have talked

would have

conversed 

And caught the words 

in 

and tossed them

Out.

And

back

and forth. 

But today

one word slipped.

And went the other.

Followed by 

another.

And I remained

Quiet.

Dear Stranger and Friend,

Dearest Reader, I find it an obligation asked of me to report to you in moments of strong feeling and this is fortunately and unfortunately one of these moments. I must speak to you about my weathering body. I must speak to you about my nightmares. I must speak to you about my lack of feeling and you must help me. Do not make fun of my words, because they are my only weapon and they will help me fight; had it not been for them and you, my friend, I would have given up. 

It started in the middle of the night when I had been lost in a dream and could not find my way home—the first of a series of corresponding nightmares that would follow the nights ahead—I could not find home and home was not there so I stood alone and felt my body push against the ground in the most painful way and it sank into and through the ground until I could only see the remainder of me: the fidgeting tip of my index finger trying to prove that I am. 

I am going to get through this. 

Since then I would wake up to days that would end in nights of the same homeless terror. 

I might have mentioned it once or twice before that I seldom cry because of some absurd reason that I have yet to find out. Nevertheless I have cried once not so long ago and a tear made its way down my face and through the crack that separates my lips and it tasted salty and not mine. I cried some more and licked the drops off my lips just to render them familiar, otherwise I would be excruciatingly confused at the moment.

Stranger, Friend, Reader, bear with me and be a good example because I cannot bear the company of those I love anymore and I do not know why. I crave and care for the agonizing thoughts of the night that would wait until the first sight of light to leave and return when the lights come off. 

Should I not sleep then? 

Should I leave the lights on?

I catch myself yelling at the faces of those I care for, for reasons unknown to my mind. 

I catch myself throwing away love for reasons unknown to my heart. 

Dear Stranger,

I do not recognize my mind, I do not recognize my heart.

The only thing I recognize at this exact moment is my writing because the repetition is familiar.

I have cried for help here before.

But not this desperately.


Dear Stranger, 

Please.