again, surrounded in this ghost existence of past … still attempting to live in a place that is and should be a memory for me … as if I were two people … fighting with two realities, and I cannot accept either, nor do I know which one I want …

being specifically interested frightens me as if I were always running away, and if no one can pin my wings with accuracy then it is just one more way i can fly away from the definition or human connection that has failed me for so many years … actually this is a lie … reverse … i do not want to begin to care about someone i know will not care as much as i do, i fear it more now than i ever did before because I have a memory of it … how much it has the power to destroy me …

I touch the rows and rows of paperbacks and hard bound experiences, the world of my half-read and half-forgotten books … my mother says if she ever could she would buy me a home in a library and i could live there alone, running and breathing in all I will never know or experience personally … because truthfully i have forgotten how to converse normally with people … i find it such a useless effort, i simply do not want to respond, and the obligations to do so cement my lips more still than death …

and to adam:
you remind me of all the things I am forever losing and then finding renewed in other people, and too much like wes used to be or at least what I thought he used to be … “this was years ago” I know this more than any of us … I know when we speak it has more to do with past attachments than present interest, and I wish I could give you what you were looking for when you rushed to meet my silence, when you slipped your hand through the crook of my arm to complete the loop between us we both know was never there … sometimes I do have doubts my past decision, the dividing line between you and wesley I remember, was ill concieved, but you were always too innocent and frail for me, and I am afraid of touching such things … i thought you needed some life before i could tell you everything and now that you have, i am at a loss again … and still fearful of touching you, or more likely, of you touching me … you know I can’t exist here, yet you are still persistant in showing me the benefits to come back, how it could be for both of us if this life wasn’t as it is … I remember valuing goodwill and humanity as much as you do and it does make me smile, you do incite me to argue with you, something most do not appreciate, a good debate …
you will never know how much i did want to fall into your testing will and thin shoulders as we listened to all the things you’ve collected over the years i never took the time to realize in you … i do regret … but i am and should be treated as a ghost of the past, a temporality, and I cannot bring myself to be anything more than this to you … however much i might in this moment want to …