Like trying to fix broken toys that no one will ever play with again. Just because I can. Inhaling life in the way we all must. I argue with the past as I would with anyone. Stubborn enough to think I’ll never notice. The universe may be big, but the world is still feels so very small when you’re trying not to be found. Because in reality, no one is looking. I could never have planned far enough ahead to account for this much loneliness.

These thoughts, these feelings, like threaded needles trying to close up the gashes. An effort in futility to keep alive what died long ago. Coaxing choices like hungry stray cats. Not as scared as they used to be. Drawing pictures no one will ever see. Writing poems no one will ever read. Chasing the pain simply because it runs from me. I turn on the lights and wait. For someone else to see what I always have.