Wednesday, August 31, 2005

I think this is going to be part of a play, or something. I wrote it at camp. What do (hypothetically plural) you think?

"I want to stop seeing this, more and more and more. People who look fine on the outside, but then something slips and you can see everything that’s wrong clearly carved into them. Carved into me, too. I wonder if I always looked as bubbly as they do. A bleeding bubble. Fine now, but with reminders to hide and sleeves to wear just in case what I see is the same as what they see, just in case it somehow is visible to them, even though everybody says it isn’t.
I try not to keep secrets, but as I drink up more and more of what I see around me, the long-sleeved shirts in the closet become less and less a symbol and more and more a reality.
I want to forget that these beings surrounding by skin are people, and that they feel things too. Maybe then I could forget that this is their reality, forget that what I saw when they move is really there, and not something figmented by my own sick imagination. I want to pretend that maybe, just maybe, none of this is true.
I want filtered vision, so I could see what’s there, but not the meaning lurking behind it. I want my ignorance back. I want to numb my “hey, that used to be me” nerve."

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