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Guest
Guest
Welcome to my three am.
Outside the world is dark and hot, humming with the constant passing of cars in the distance. The room I sit in is lit by an overhead lamp and sound effects are provided by lavender's snoring, the drone of the computer, and the tapping of my thoughts on the keyboard.
Here is where my day cools and slows and my experiences fade to memory. The earlier laughter seems strained on reflection. Tastes are dulled and blurred. The connections I felt seem meager and tenuous on reflection.
People who are my friends when I sit by them are just people when I'm alone. They exist in their world and I am mine. Between each mind slips smoke and shadows. They are never pierced and the distances never bridged.
Tomorrow a friend might look my in the face and ask me what I mean. When I look into their eyes, I will not know what I meant. I feel as though I vacillate between that person I am when I am with others and this person I am when I am alone. I wonder why I always return to this. I wonder why when I'm with others I always feel as though I'm suspended above the room. Neither touching nor being touched. As though the responses to my words weren't responses but random words the other person thought of after I had spoken.
Here you will find me. Only would won't find me for I'll be locked somewhere else inside myself. I'll watch as you interact with some prosthetic extension of me. An extension that smiles are your jokes, nods in agreement, frowns in dissent. An extension you eat with, play with, dance with and make love with as I look on and slip out when you finally leave me.
Outside the world is dark and hot, humming with the constant passing of cars in the distance. The room I sit in is lit by an overhead lamp and sound effects are provided by lavender's snoring, the drone of the computer, and the tapping of my thoughts on the keyboard.
Here is where my day cools and slows and my experiences fade to memory. The earlier laughter seems strained on reflection. Tastes are dulled and blurred. The connections I felt seem meager and tenuous on reflection.
People who are my friends when I sit by them are just people when I'm alone. They exist in their world and I am mine. Between each mind slips smoke and shadows. They are never pierced and the distances never bridged.
Tomorrow a friend might look my in the face and ask me what I mean. When I look into their eyes, I will not know what I meant. I feel as though I vacillate between that person I am when I am with others and this person I am when I am alone. I wonder why I always return to this. I wonder why when I'm with others I always feel as though I'm suspended above the room. Neither touching nor being touched. As though the responses to my words weren't responses but random words the other person thought of after I had spoken.
Here you will find me. Only would won't find me for I'll be locked somewhere else inside myself. I'll watch as you interact with some prosthetic extension of me. An extension that smiles are your jokes, nods in agreement, frowns in dissent. An extension you eat with, play with, dance with and make love with as I look on and slip out when you finally leave me.
