he sits on their favorite park bench

(the one facing the pond

because she likes to feed the ducks)

and waits.

the flowers in his hands

(chrysanthemums,

her favorite)

stir anxiously

at the brisk touch

of the winter wind.

he waits like this

everyday

even though he knows

she will never come

again.

waiting

is easier

than grieving.

yesterday

your voice

burned

my lips

today

I burn

our photograph

forever

this longing

burns

wet warmth

pooling

on my skin

and darkness

cradling

my body

sometimes

I feel

gentle

quivers

vibrating

the fluid

around me

and it

always

feels

familiar

somewhere

over my head

there is

a solid

thumping

and I like it

because it's

always

there

my chest rises

and falls

rhythmically

repeatedly

and sometimes

I stretch

my arms

and my hands

clench

and my legs

kick

like clockwork

I practice

these

motions

but I don't

know why

if I had

to say

it's almost

as if

my body is

preparing

for something

I thought

this world

was everything

and forever

but now

I feel like

I am

waiting

for the

end

or maybe

a beginning?

suddenly

the darkness

jolts

violently

and an intense

pressure

clamps down

on me

it lasts

so long

that I wonder

if this is

it

but then it

ends

as suddenly

as it began

and bright light

and loud sound

scrape

on my senses

the warm

dark

is gone

my lungs

fill

with air

and it feels so

strange

and cold

and I

hate it

here

but then

my body

is wrapped

in

soft heat

and a gentle

sound

echoes

familiarly

above my head

"hi lovely

I've been

waiting

for you"

below

my cheek

I feel

the same

steady

thumping

that I always

knew

and it

lulls me

to sleep

like it did

so many times

before

he's always

looking back

or somewhere else

even when he looks

at you

the distance

in his eyes

shines

and he's not really

here

he stares

and stares

anywhere

but here

and he shakes his

head

sometimes

he cries

not the weeping

of Shame

or the sobs

of Grief

but a soft

mist

darkens

his face

the thing that

bothers me the

most

is that

he can never

sit still

fidgeting endlessly

pacing

back and forth

for hours

in the same

spot

and he never

shuts up

always asking

what if

what if

what if

even if you happen

to answer

he never listens

he'll just

mumble

I wish

I wish

I shouldn't have

I shouldn't have

I should have

I should have

we've been

together

for so long

that you would

think

I was used to this

by now

I used to

ignore him

but honestly

the more I listen

the more I wonder

if he's right

um

before I say anything

I’m not a public speaker

I hate it actually

because I’ve never been good

at speaking

while nameless eyes

cling to my skin

I always feel like I’m

suffocating

under the collective burden

of so many pairs

of unforgiving

eyes

uh

not that I want

to make you all

sound so bad

like you're evil

or something

I’m sure you’re all

very nice

people

or maybe not

um

I don’t know anything

about most of you

of course

and most of you

don’t know me

um

uh

but I want to assume the best

and hope that you won’t

judge me

unkindly

I didn’t ask for this

you see

but here I am!

haha

um

I’m supposed to be saying

something important

and incredibly insightful

and there you are

waiting

probably impatiently

to hear me say it

um

uh

sorry

I didn’t get much

time

to plan this

and it’s really

a lot to ask

I mean

really

am I supposed to just

say whatever?

like what are the rules

here?

could I just

call you all assholes--

um not that

I would!

but could I

if I wanted to?

um

I would guess

probably not

haha

but um

if I could say

anything

well

where would I even begin?

um let’s see

since I can say

anything

I wish Jon would

call me back

haha!

just kidding

kind of

um

if I could say

anything

then

I think

it's kinda

ironic

how we are all so

easily connected

by modern technology

like smartphones

and social media

and stuff

but most of us

or a lot of us

um

or maybe just me

feel lonelier

than ever

you know what

I mean?

like I could talk to anybody

I want to

whenever I want

but most of the time

I feel like

I’m missing

something

like even if I call you

and listen to your

voice

over the phone

or like your Instagram post

or send you a

friend request

on Facebook

we’re not really

connecting

I guess it’s like

we lost

authenticity

maybe?

like we lost

how it feels

to connect

with other humans

in the real world

because so many of us

prefer the easy

distraction

of the world

we created

on the Internet

even when we are

together

offline

like have you noticed

how people will

go out to

a restaurant

or something like that

together

and both of them

will look at their phone

instead of talk to

each other?

or like

people will spend

more time

taking pictures of

their food

and posting them

than actually eating it?

I just think that’s

kinda sad

I mean

don’t get me wrong

I love the Internet

because we have so much

knowledge

and it’s all so

easily accessible

and you can use it

to express yourself

or nurture your

interests

or to connect with people

who like you

and can relate to you

even people who live

overseas

or speak a different language

and I do think

it’s a really cool

outlet

for people to share

their thoughts

and feelings

or just a good way

to beat boredom

but it’s not

everything

you know?

sometimes it feels like

no one cares

about anything else

and like the world

online

matters more than the world

around us

like I can’t be the

only one

who obssesses over how many

likes

I get on social media

right?

and it’s like

what does that

even matter?

what I'm

trying to say

is that in the context

of the real world

the number of likes

you get

on an Instagram

or Facebook post

is so

meaningless!

but we let it

affect us

by giving it

meaning

because we’re only

human

and we love to compare

and measure

and categorize

so of course

we have to compare

ourselves

to others

like oh she got

so many more

likes than me

so people must

like her more

and people must not

like me

as much

when that’s not

at all

what it means

because it doesn’t

mean anything!

it was just

supposed to be

a way

of showing our

appreciation

for something

but we turned it into

like

a self-esteem sensor

and most of the time

we end up feeling

worse

about ourselves

because even if you get

millions

and billions

of likes

on your photo

you’re just seeking

validation

from complete strangers

like if someone

who you barely know

a friend

of a friend

of a friend

or maybe they really are

a stranger

because you’re like a celebrity

and your fan is following you

anyway

it’s not

real

like they don’t really

care about you

and even if you think

they do

they don’t

unless you affect

their like daily life

in some way

um

then they probably

care

but like

the feeling

of satisfaction

you get

from people

responding to

the mundane things

you post

is so

brief

and it's gone

before you really

enjoyed it

and then you're chasing

empty happiness

every time

I think

it’s hard

to really get to

know someone

when we basically use

social media

as like

a shield

or maybe more like a wall?

yeah like

walls

that we build

to hide our flaws

and insecurities

because we want

to be perfect

or at least

perceived that way

like I don’t want

you

to know that

I have low

self-esteem

and I doubt

my worth

as a person

because it’s

embarrasing and

it makes me feel

ashamed

you know?

although I guess

I basically just

told the whole world

um

yeah

anyway

do you get

what I’m trying

to say?

social media

and the Internet

was created

because it was supposed

to be fun

and it is

usually

but it doesn’t

define

who you are

it’s just

a mirror

where we can reflect

a version

of ourselves

for other people

to see

but the person

in the mirror

isn’t really you

it’s just an

image

that wouldn’t exist

in the first place

without you

and it doesn't

mean anything

sorry

I know I’m kinda

ranting

but this stuff

really bothers me

because

honestly

life is too short

so

what is the point

of obsessing

over such a meaningless

thing?

honestly

sometimes I wonder

why I do

anything at all?

like sometimes

I lay awake

at night

and wonder

what's the point

of living

but the ironic thing

is that you have to

do something

because that's life

and there probably

is no point

you know

I'm not a philosopher

I'm just an

ordinary person

but

if I could say anything

I would say

the point of life

is to live

or maybe the point

is to die

or maybe the point is that

I am here

in this moment

and I may not be here

in the next moment

so

I have to make

the moment

count

before it's gone

forever

has someone

ever asked you

what you would

wish for

if you could wish

for anything?

well

if I could wish for

anything

I would wish

to stay alive

forever

but then again

living is so

painful

and sometimes

it feels like

it kills me

every minute

look

what I'm trying

to say is

we're not that

complicated

we just want

to be happy

but sometimes

it feels like

that's asking

too much

right?

sometimes

you must wonder

why

you were born

or why bad things

happen to you

or why you can't be

more like

them

But you know what?

it doesn't matter

why you're here

because even if

there is

no point to living

we have to make

a point

out of living

because there is

nothing else

we can do

because we are here

and we are

alive

for whatever reason

so we might as well

keep on living

even though

it hurts and

it can be boring

and annoying

and redundant

and lonely

and sometimes I really

hate it

but maybe that's what

makes it

meaningful

like maybe

just being alive

and feeling things

even bad things

and making memories

and watching the world

change

is enough

to give us

meaning

and I don't know

about you

but I just want

to feel like

my life

has meaning

outside of the

glossy

circuit board

I carry

in my pocket

it was cliche

at best

a one way ride

under flashing lights

hands laced under

cold metal

to sit alone

with his self-hatred

burning under his skin

at worst

in the distance

or rather

six stories below

people began to gather

and clamor

fuck

he whispered

under his breath

if he's even barely

alive

down there

I am so

fucked

he peered

over the balcony

in the darkness

at the bright city lights

blinking

over the body

mangled

twisted

and bleeding

on the sidewalk

he couldn't hear

from this high up

but it looked like

the people

who looked like

ants

from this high up

were trying to do

something

probably they would

call an ambulance

and maybe the cops

please God

he silently prayed

please if there's a

God

please don't let him

be alive

the wind gusted

suddenly

and his skin

prickled

under its cold

callous touch

he pulled his

black hood

up over his head

and tugged down

on his black baseball cap

casting a thick

black

shadow over his face

he turned back

towards the open door

and picked his way

carefully

through the untouched

apartment

he had gloves on

of course

and his shoes were wrapped

in plastic bags

which was probably

unnecessary

since the apartment had a

shitty threadbare stained

carpet

and there was no mess

to clean up

no blood

or mud

but you could never be

too careful

he carefully closed

the front door and

locked it

with the key

he had swiped

from the hook

by the door

no forced entry

he thought

checking off a box

on his mental checklist

as the lock shifted

into place

"is that you

Sam"

a gentle

almost indiscernible

voice called

from the dimly lit

silence

in the hallway

his heart

screamed

and every muscle

jerked

in shock

he turned his head

at breakneck speed

to see an elderly woman

a living white-haired

skeleton

cradling an

equally elderly

and skeletal

cat

"is that you

Sam"

she said again

her head craning

as if she were struggling

to hear

he was motionless

his blood pumping

feverishly

"oh shit

I finally

got caught"

seared onto every

cell in his body

but then

he noticed

the long stick

she held

in her arthritic hands

by her right side

and the dark glasses

perched

on the tip

of her nose

there really is

a God

he thought to himself

he stared at her

and she seemed to stare back

though of course she

couldn't actually see him

and then finally

after many days passed

or at least

five minutes

she shook her head

"I'm hearing things

again"

she mumbled

to herself

and she plodded softly

in her worn slippers

down the hallway

her stick clicking

on the wooden floor

he turned quickly

to the stairs and

practically

tripped

over his own feet

as he rushed

six stories

down

he went the back way

out of the building

exiting into an

alleyway

that smelled like

drug addicts

and piss

when he came out

onto the street

the body was gone

only a few lonely

voyeurs

and a dark rusty stain

remained

fuck

he thought

I'm so hungry

but the pizzeria

is probably closed

by now

the next morning

he was

watching the news

like he always did

while he ate cheerios

out of the box

and sipped milk from

the carton

when a familiar face

flashed onto

the tv screen

SUCCESSFUL 57 YEAR OLD BUSINESS EXECUTIVE COMMITS SUICIDE

POLICE FIND KIDDIE PORN STASH IN DEAD MAN'S APARTMENT

on top of the tv

a pretty young girl

with blue eyes

and long blonde hair

and a nose shaped

like his

smiles at him

from an old

picture frame

he smiles

back at her

as the ache in his heart

deepens

that makes 34

sickos

he says to her

I swear I'll

kill them all

every last

fucking

pedo

until the day

I die

so they can't hurt

a little girl

like you

ever again

the shuddering engine

dies. she looks in the

rearview mirror. watches the eye

of the needle

widen. leaves the keys

in the ignition. traces her way

to the shore.

she pauses

at the edge

of the water. a whole

human being

with a pair of eyes

and a pair of hands

and a pair of arms

and a pair of breasts

and a pair of thighs

and a pair of feet

alone

on an empty beach.

she screams. as loud

as she can. until her throat

feels like a red

cavern

on the brink

of collapsing.

the waves swallow

her song. the beaten cliffs

forget the echo

of her voice.

she is still

alone.

they found her car

a few days later.

waiting

in the empty

parking lot. the engine

dead. the keys

still

in the ignition.

"what are you afraid of?"

she asked me.

"nothing"

I said.

"I'm not afraid of

anything."

"not even spiders or snakes or frogs?"

"nope."

but I was lying.

I didn't know it then

but I was lying to her.

I was always afraid.

I had always been afraid

she would leave me

one day

soon.

even when we were young

I sensed the difference

between us.

I always could.

even before I could recognize

grown-up feelings

like jealously and

resentment

I noticed an uneasiness

aching

under my breastbone

next to my heart.

I was always

watching her

as I stood by her side.

I watched her as she grew up

growing stronger

and more beautiful

by the hour.

everyone loved her

as soon as they met her.

why wouldn't they?

she was always

lovely and

happy.

I loved her

too but

she was moving on.

and I was here.

I was the same.

I couldn't

keep up with her

forever.

so when we grew up

I left first.

I took a plane

and I went somewhere

far away.

I thought maybe then

we would be the

same.

maybe then she would feel

afraid and alone

like me.

maybe then I could move on

past this fear

I always hid so well

from her.

but even though I was

the one who left

out of spite.

even though I was the one

trying to hurt her.

even though I envied her

and resented her.

I missed her

constantly

and I wondered how she was

doing

and what she would say

if she were with me.

I was afraid

when I came home.

I was afraid she didn't

want me

anymore.

but instead she

held open her arms

and called my name

as if nothing had

changed.

as if she loved me

perfectly and

unconditionally.

and I wanted to cry

because I realized

how ugly I really was.

how ugly I would always be

on the inside.

I realized she knew

and she didn't care

because I loved her

and she loved me

and that would never

change.

this copy of Slaughterhouse Five

is old and withered.

the binding is no longer binding

and the front cover is no longer

attached.

it's obviously been well-read

and well-loved

even though neither of us

has touched it

in years.

it's not my favorite novel

but it's yours.

it's one of the first things

we ever talked about.

so I showed this to you

after I found it

in the attic

and I let myself hope

a little too much.

but you didn't

smile

or scold me for dog-earing

the pages

like you usually do.

instead you stood

without looking at me

and you said

in a low voice

"throw it away.

it's worthless

now."

now I stand here

in our bedroom

by our favorite window

the sun dipping low

behind the plastic blinds.

and I'm wasting time

by flipping through pages

I've already read.

and then I'm

looking for something.

I'm flipping faster and

faster and

faster.

I see a glimpse

of you

between the black letters

and my heart quickens and

I can't stop I see you I see

a glimpse of you and

I have to

"what are you doing?"

I tuck the book

behind my back.

"oh!

nothing"

I say

laughing in

embarrassment.

"just killing time

I guess."

you study me

silently and

shrug.

"well,

I'm going out."

my rib cage opens and

collapses.

"again?"

I can't stop myself

from asking.

you frown.

"yes, again.

it's just with

some friends.

don't be so fucking

paranoid."

I blush in

anger

and quickly look

down

so you won't see.

"right, sorry.

forget I said

anything."

"don't wait up."

"yeah."

I wait for the door to click

closed

and then I hold the book

in my hands

and I hear your voice

reading to me

under the setting sun

a long time ago.

I hold this book

in my palms

and I see your mouth

your eyes

your nose

your hands

your hair

your skin.

I finally see you.

and then

I rip it

apart.

hey

how have u been?

okay.

u?

well it's been

going.

mostly work and

stuff.

yeah.

me too.

I heard from tom

that u got married last week.

congrats, man.

thanks.

sarah has been

really good for me.

wish I could've made

the wedding.

you know how

work is.

anyway

sarah is a lucky girl.

more like

I'm the lucky one.

I don't know what I

would do

without her.

...

what?

...it's nothing.

what is it?

no srsly. it's nothing.

fine.

I won't push u.

look, it's just...

do u love

her?

sarah?

...why?

look,

it's nothing.

forget I said anything.

why r u asking?

it's stupid.

forget it.

...fine.

I don't need to ask

anyway.

why?

because I already know

what ur going

to say.

fuck u.

what?

it's true.

fuck u!

u don't know me!

u never did!

r u kidding me!

I know u like the back of my

fucking hand!

yeah right!

u never let me

in.

u always had this

fucking wall

between us.

like u were so afraid

of what I might find

if u let yourself go

even just a little.

fuck u!

of course I was afraid.

I didn't want u

to hate me.

as if I could fucking hate u.

I was in love with u.

the only one I wanted

was u.

we werent even

happy.

of course we were!

no

think about it.

were we really

happy?

hiding from everyone?

tucking ourselves away

from the rest of the

world?

...I was happy.

...

I was the happiest I've

ever fucking been.

and eveything else

these past six years

has been shit

in comparison to how

I felt with u.

look

we couldn't have

stayed like that

forever.

it wasn't just the

two of us.

what about our parents?

my mom has always talked about

grandchildren

since my dad died.

how could I break her heart

a second time?

u can't please

everyone.

u can't make everyone happy.

what about u?

u used to talk about

kids

all the time.

even with me.

...you would have been

enough for me.

don't fucking lie to me.

u always wanted something

more

than what we had.

and u always wanted to be

normal

deep down.

u wouldn't admit to me

or to urself

what u really wanted.

why didn't u talk to me?

why didn't u ask me what I wanted?

because I know u.

I was always watching u,

even when we were

little.

I know when ur about to

sneeze

or cry.

I know when you're stressed,

your forehead crinkles,

but only on one side of your

nose.

I know what your hair

smells like

and I know that you have a scar on

your arm

from when you saved me

from that stray dog

back when we were nine.

I know u

because I always loved

you.

I wanted u to be happy.

...what should I do now?

what?

if you know me so well,

then tell me what the fuck

am I supposed to do

now.

...I don't know.

we're not who we were

then

anymore.

you know what?

what?

ur right.

I didn't know u.

and u never knew me

either.