You ask me, why are you so sad? On the phone, and I can tell you don't want to listen. I hang up wordlessly before you can but my sobs stream so loudly that I know you can still hear them. The short answer is that when it is silent, and sunny outside, and four walls surround me, when I am alone and disconnected, a great weight appears upon my shoulders, setting forth apparitions before my eyes. Transgressions, inadequacies, what you call my freak-outs, my mother crying in her sleep, a figure on its knees, pound the outside of my iris until I let them in. So I don't stay inside. I take buses and ride the routes for hours, hoping to feel your love again through the purple sunsets.

Anyways tomorrow will bring more hope. I can't be alone. And not being alone doesn't mean having Joni Mitchell in the background. It means having your face to hold in my hands. But not even really that. I don't know. I have no goddamn idea.