i have trouble believing that i exist for others when i'm not in their immediate universe. when i am not speaking to them or standing in front of them, i can not believe that they think about me. i am in denial about my own existence - i don't think you have a mental picture of me. i can't picture it. i wouldn't have one. not of me. i can't imagine i exist for anyone who i'm not conversing with.i am skeptical when people tell me they were thinking about me. 'really?', i ask. my eyebrow lifts, slightly. i couldn't always do that. but i can, now. i can do many things, but really nothing that amounts to very much. never could, never will. turned around words are sometimes more meaningful than what we say. celebrate opposite day. assume everything is backwards, down to up. see where it gets you.
you see the words, they form a train that flows through your brain, a river of thought that is either a trickle or a rage, but never nothing. everything is something. Crash.
i am worried. about many things. do you know that? did you know the number of the house was written in white? did you notice the red? probably not. i did. i always do. the inconsequential fascinates me. it is so forgotten, so pushed aside that i can't help but believe that there is a secret hidden within it somewhere where no-one bothers to look. in my universe the unexpected carries salvation, and the real punch line is that it's not even hiding, you just don't know how to look. they say that seeing is an instinct, you cannot explain sight to the blind. but it isn't - because you see only those things that you're used to seeing. the challenge is seeing things that you would not.

is that so difficult to believe? that we're wrong? we're young, or so they say. isn't everyone old?

it's quiet. i love you. but you're always quiet when the world comes crashing down, again.

when you close your eyes, what do you see?