I look for myself in a mirror, anywhere. a shimmer asphalt pool from light rain on a sunny day. clouds, bluesky backdrop. an outline. sans detail. I am in a see through pane on every parked car. week ends, I seek to forget. the outline is always there. I stay in shape, enough to be an outline. the dead stop. the outline can’t. it must be found to stay alive.
They all say to rest. I’ve never known it. I can’t see it. even I can’t look at myself.
how could I ask someone else.
how could I expect.
I watch the crooked walk, weighed by that feeling, left shoulder. strong, awake, bouldered. I only carry it when I’m close.
to You, I always walk crooked. notice. I can’t see my self.
I won’t be the person you need, no matter how much I know: I could, I can do. how much proof I have of me. That me. You see him, as if I could be That. I want, and scream at my self for allowing This to be the reason I can’t be with You. allowing. who is in control.
This. This is how people disappear. I see Them. They are gone now. I’m still watching Them go. They will never know. how do you call Them, what do you say, why would They listen, believe, accept the insignificance in my words. I’m invisible too.
share isolation.
This Room is full—colors, shapes, movement in everything. variance is possibility. I could see Me, in You, in the infinite… if The Room wasn’t so full. we are in The same Room. Walls. my face pains at the smush. I listen. The Wall is density. we are in The same Room. I crush to be emptiness, empty enough to pass through things. I know You are on the other side.
to be a disappeared one, to withdraw, to taste that need to delete. You know. we know. we are in The same Room.
one. one of Those. Those that could be gone tomorrow. fine. good. wouldn’t warn a soul. another story: never saw it coming. we felt it. we ignored. we all played a part in Your departure.
and then. The Rest. They are in The Room. I see You.