June 12th

Sometimes I write random things when I can't think and I have nothing better to do. From June 12th.

Sleepy, I hold to me the wavering sillohette of the missing, the shadows, an invisible form. I hold them close, in my mind, and try to feel the nonexistent matter, forming the air between my arms into flesh, warmth, skin. Close my eyes and try to feel it.. but the sensation on my hands distracts me, as I feel the wood of the desk pressing against the sides of my hands, touching the bone and muscle, the skin, distracting me from trying to feel the very delicate and nearly impossible to sense being. Too many feelings to try to feel the nothing. I try again to form something, anything, even if so small. Like what was it..? I had done it once before. Maybe a coincidence, maybe a dream, but I swore I felt the hand, just there, touch my side. Half asleep, I wake, and feel it. No one’s there. The light fills the room, and I touch where I’d felt the hand. Unexplainable.

Childhood anthems.....

I could tell you every secret I have, every confession, everything I’ve ever done wrong and every dream I’ve ever had. All you have to do is ask. I’ll tell you and anyone and everyone everything. Just wonder.

When I was younger, I’d love people to ask me questions. Ask me about what I thought, what I felt. Maybe I was so silent that I’d only listen, and never voice my own opininos. Never had a chance to tell my story, my side. So that left me waiting for someone to pull me in, to ask what Tanya thought. Now the years have caught up, and I overflow with words. Every silent day comes with a night of writing, until my head goes empty. Every question, every word unsaid.