Can you see me? Do you even see me standing here screaming silently with a smile plastered on? No, I am not enjoying this. No, I am not having a good time. The miles of unappreciated emptiness between my pleading hello and your unanswering ears are echoing. Echoing and empty here between us where you do not hear and do not choose to. Would you wish to if you knew? Knew that this great silence was a canyon, a chasm pointed and painful and growing wider as we fail to bridge it. You and your side and me and my side; fortresses with new walls to fend off the echoes. And are you wandering the halls inside your walls, blithely avoiding the empty-facing windows through which I gaze almost telescopically? Vainly and in vain I dare to dream that I might glimpse your proud and unaware turned-away face, your back straight and tall and to me. I’m screaming in my dreams for you to turn around, to help me build a bridge across so that we might together destroy. Destroy these walls that isolate and leave only to pray the God will you please just turn around? Turn around and talk and invite me with open arms. We could walk slowly and talk lightly and be what we used to be when you still wanted me to exist. There could be lunch and love and late nights and mid-morning lullabies and all that there was if only you knew that I am, and will stand and be standing here for you to turn (around) to. I know that I could reach, stretch, maybe even brush against you with the tips of heavy fingers. I could and I should and I would but if I did, you might keep walking. Keep leaving. Keep stacking the empty spaces on top of one another, building the fortress you have come to treasure. T could, and I should and I would but I don’t. And my heaviness grows and my hands will not rise and my smile falls and my lips are lead and will not part and this lead in my veins is fear. The growing, gripping fear that I may be nothing but a specter, a ghost you once dreamed but have since allowed to fade. I fear that I am only solid in my dreams and that perhaps I was made whole only by being remembered. So that as you forget to remember me I will slowly dissipate, and I will soon be gone. And then there will be no one screaming silently for you to not hear. No one pleading to see if your eyes still hold recognition and respect for the past. No one begging you to please-God-just-turn-around-and-see¬-me-damnit. Please. please.
But then, I might only be your dream, to be forgotten at dawn.


**Look! Look! I wrote something that wasn't absolute crap! It's been so long I don't even know what to do with myself. Perhaps now I can return to some sort of equilibrium where there is something other than funk and gloom.