it always comes back to this. its a cool may evening. standing, balancing on the curbs edge. awaiting the signal to cross. arms lay light - neck heavy. wind blowing hair around my face. a whirlwind, tornado of directions. a slight shiver bites my eyes. the corners clipping to tears. i am alone, deserted in cross streets. i am still. i want nothing but to be still. and for you to join. i call out for you but cant take hold. i look no longer for the right moments. but instead allow them to find me. i am myself. i make no sense but i know just how i feel. how is it possible to feel so disconnected from and superconnected with everyone at the same time? will no one ever know this skin? or is it i who disallows it? untouchable. i refuse. it must not be possible to feel connected to something nonexistent. or do we breathe in nonrealities only. why must i feel embarassed for my own purities? for my own self? for my own separations? youre a bastard. a lying son of a gun. but im too young to know.
and youre too far away to care.
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