nUMBER S

Sometimes at the end of it all, you’re left feeling a bit hollow. This is a different feeling than that of loneliness. It’s a juxtaposition of two personalities into the same space. They are there, but they are only there. The water bottle and the magnet eventually came to know each other. Disagreements and fights never happened, but at the cost of unmeasured love dozing organized and succinct in the cupboard. Juliet screamed. Juliet cried. John slept facing the other direction. And life continued, the shadow of commercials and sitcoms staining their eyes and hearts. Everything was fine, and most things only hurt a little. Spring hadn’t come in years, and its fragrance of birth and vitality was replaced by fabric softener and greeting cards. The floor, bathroom, garage, kitchen, bedroom, everything- spotless, silent, and in order. Let the chords fall and fade, their message undelivered and forgotten. We’ve made it ourselves, this glaze. We have air, but we suffocate. We have food, but we starve. We have friends, but we know no one. We need........ let us.....

Forward. Stepping. My neck is turning and I look up into the rafters, straining to see some sort of direction or explanation. It's snowing sideways outside, and the high mountain wind is fierce. Out there, everything is hostile. In here, it's mostly unknown. My parka is very warm, but it's all I've got and the moment I open the doors, I'm starting a journey that could last for as long as I'm alive. Even in a storm as violent as this, it's silent. Far off on the horizon the clouds become thin until eventually the sky is clear and the moon is bright. But here- where I am now- the white sleep is relentless and angry, thickening near the pass. Solitude's first cousin is the cold, and their reunion steadies my gaze, but races my breath. My fingers sting, my heart beats, and I am alive.

My eyes are lasers and my heart is real. My eyes are lasers and my heart is real.