This isn't poetry, this isn't fiction, this isn't a song... obviously not a drawing.

I have so much to say and nothing to say and everything in the world to say... to you.

I can't be your friend.

But I don't want to go.

I had this crazy dream. There were so many people in your house. I felt out of place, but so welcomed at the same time. You showed me a picture of this crazy asteroid that had hit England thousands of years ago. They used it to build the foundations of a church. But it wasn't really an asteroid, it was a spaceship. And it had come from the creators of this universe. But as far as anybody knew, there was never anyone on it. Just a ridiculously advanced inter-universal spaceship that looked mostly like a big ol' rock with some little lights on it. The picture you had was huge and heavy. You needed help rolling it up in your bedroom rug (you had a bedroom rug, your apartment was huge and AMAZING and had this incredible balcony with an incredible view). I cautioned against using the rug, as people would think you were hiding a body. That's how heavy this picture was. I felt like I had tricked you somehow, but not about the rug...

I'm tired of wondering. I'm tired of the emotional drama and the intense complicated-ness. I'm tired of the imbalance, and I'm tired of how much energy it takes for me to manage these feelings. One way or another, it's time for this to end.