I am in my furry jacket right now. White soft against hard black keys. I wonder where you are, how you are doing. Are you lying in your bed? Under the covers in the flannel and comfort that eminates from your cerebral existence, never to be flustered? How long can we go before everything we know is a lie? A cup of chocolate, a cup of beer, why aren't you here? Maybe because I don't want that and I'm afraid. You'll find me out. No matter how long you've known me, I am not myself. If I found you out, would you still lie in the grass with me in some timeless backyard and hold my hand, not fingers intertwined, but clutching each other's, like we always dreamt of this so we knew what to do (and we are desperate)? How did you know I was here? I have questions boundless with all the answers sewn in the pockets of my jeans. It's as if I've been looking in the same mirror since I was 11 and knew what was to come to pass, still no able to conceive of it, or grasp hold of it when the time came.

I grow old, I grow old. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have taken all of this, all of my life sitting down or waving from the side. "Hey, i have something to say to you, just please look. There is a story here you are running parallel to and we will never graze glances again."

The time lost. And giving it up, also lost, and feeling my life as a meaningless narrative, also lost. But knowing (hoping) that this play of motion will play out and, if anything, I am left with an amazing vision I created of what may have been. And really (for me) that is more than enough.