They say to just move on, but how can one just move-- move without direction and I'm without direction. Without direction or director, and so I've found my stage. That stage of life that makes me both actress and youth. That stage, or so they say, from whence I shall and am, or at least I act as though I have moved on.
Moving on suggests leaving behind but how can I leave behind myself and my friend? For friend, if nothing else, is what you are. That among many things, these things including impossible-- both impossible to have and impossible to leave. So do I say to leave, advocate leaving, leave me alone? Alone and lonely, lonely now with one less love but also one less friend? So why say anything and all that would give me away? Away from you from whom I tear in tears and private conversation which is not at all conversation when I am alone and alone is what I am now without the dream, though at times a nighmare where the night would wear on and on with a confession of love to the silence and the response through the years, no need to ask, was or would have been never.
Never would you see me, confide in me. Never would your eyes pause even on my shadow and in the shadows I would and will stay. Through the moments, not a moment's thought. Through the thoughts of someone else. Something, and nothing else, and I fall, the silence falls, and I fall into silence. The comforting nightmare of silence because it is nothing else.