keeping secrets.

I write because I have secrets that I cannot tell anybody here. I write to you because you are the only one that know my secrets. I tuck the paper away in a blank envelope and seal them as tight as I can because you left. I am thinking very hard right now. I have sat here with this blank piece of paper for several hours. I cannot get words onto this blank piece of paper. I am trying to make things simple for a reader by concentrating very hard. The notion of loneliness does not scare me. I am not scared of myself. How is anybody afraid to die? I am scared to live, I am not scared to die. I am not scared to feel pain. I have already felt the pain. I cannot feel it any more than I have. That does not scare me. What scares me is not feeling the pain. I am sitting at the bus stop with my suitcase and a long world length mirror is across the street, which helps me to stare at myself in the eyes. I am not scared to stay here, I have already stayed. I am just scared of not going because what if you are there calling. “Put that suitcase away. This mirror will travel with you wherever you go. You will look across pastures, through rivers, and above mountains and you will see this mirror. It will continue to force you to look into your own eyes. You will not be able to run from who you are.” Somebody used to tell me that I would “be ok”. I never understood this statement. You know if somebody tells you that you will be ok, that person knows you wont be. Nobody goes around saying “you’ll be ok” if they know you are fine. I left that bus before anybody could see me there. I took a rock and smashed it against the world length mirror and took a piece of it with me. I look in it and see you in me and know that I still have a piece of you.

The sound of loneliness makes me happier.