First thing’s first – brief rant:

I tend to fly solo. Perhaps this is a common trait of Writers? Not sure. Furthermore, I don’t sleep. On certain days, like today, this creates a striking crimson backdrop to my green irises.

Minding my own business this evening wandering blocks of brief encounters with many people I haven’t seen for years, I was approached by a handful of strangers… which I am ordinarily all for. Talking to strangers is one of my favorite  past times, it ranks close to running with scissors.

What grossed me out were the assumptions these ‘strangers’ made about my comprehension abilities. Was it my red eyes? Was it my seeming obsession with the notebook I was running around scribbling in? Was it because I didn’t have someone holding my hand along empty backstreets? Fair enough it’s a full moon tonight, but come on people…

What-ev… I’m totally ranting. Maybe I’ve been taking life too seriously and need to get it off my chest.

Point: If you see me alone, with bloodshot eyes, and an absent stare… this doesn’t mean ‘Maybe I should take you somewhere,’ or ‘You shouldn’t stand so close to the edge of the sidewalk, let me help you…’

I’m fine… really. And alert. Insanely alert, to be honest… just ask my Sifu.

I miss the puppies. I haven’t raised this, in case you haven’t noticed… it’s sort of a sensitive topic.

a framed mirror

Recognized. You. Before we even met…
On first sight. I… new… nothing is the same.
Asking (unseen) forces to explain… yet…
Half to the other. Understands. No shame.
She’s quitting habits instead of disguise.
His explanations don’t come… as easy…
Life carries on because…. None are too wise.
His breath shortage is her wheezing.
She’s a full moon puppet. Dangling from sky.
He doesn’t tell a soul. She cannot care.
Upon first sight. He first to ask… why?
Moments questioning are replaced with stares.
She bites her own hand. To keep it… inside.
Who are they? Identity. Coincide.