The Times

Newspaper and holy text of all-

I am here and so are you. WHo are you? I have not one clue. Let me though take this off my chest and share it with you. Solitude. Dylan my friend said something about a game. I am joking there was never a Dylan other than the one in Turin all the way from Argentina. Let me just. Tell you. Once upon a time I used to. Nowadays. I try.

Take into consideration. When all is in motion and emotive disposition, within pur head we try to behave or believe or something that can invite a sort of haze but what if it is real? I mean.

I look around and sometimes do not see but not today. Today I see. Someone in the same pain. Aim. Game. Life, tragedy. Tell you I must of where I come from but words will not suffice for I am still in search of a way to do the justice for my sake. Of those days not much different from today but nostalgic still in a wave. Washing over the day.

Maybe there is not much choice?

I realize I try to look for empathy in the most unusual faces. Finally I see them who sit on the floor or lurk in the corners ( that’s a made up one right there the last touch) the ones who dress a bit quirky almost out of place. Look closer I did and I saw them having what I yearn to desire for myself. A family. No, that I have but maybe, but maybe you get the point?

The wind takes us, or we stay put. Hear hear. Maybe I’ve been looking at places and not seeing where my gaze. Falls upon yet again lost in my thoughts. I have this instinct pulling me away but towards where? Until I find my home.

Just let me. We used to play games. I and my friends. I attained them over time. A family to envy. One I chose from everyone around. The kids they play and I was one. One was another one and also another one was there. Now I write about it but then surely mìnot much was different regarding the exiistence and feelings that come with it resembling distaste. Maybe I have to learn more of gratitude in order to be inhabiting it for my benefit. Say if I must dare that there was a wave of some sort. I found myself in array and stressed my wake when I could have would have should have. Anyway.

Now I miss those friends. Them who make life bearable. I pretend I have one but really I wonder if he just hides from me. To say that perhaps a boy of this land cannot and will not understand. I have to try to see. Who I really am. And I do. In the faces of those who beg, who tell, sing or write. Those who try to but not whip around what they do not have. Perhaps I have been doing it all wrong. Call a little grace in now. But maybe. I have not the face to pretend it’s all right.

Say let me but ask.

——

Context:

I saw a dance today. Exhaustion and the resistance.