Losing touch. I can feel it. You have, at last, become a ghost for real. But quitting would be like admitting defeat. Why make an admission when no one is listening?

Sometimes I still catch myself fabricating excuses for you. Maybe you’re busy, got things on your mind, found yourself in a game and have to follow the rules. What did I do to deserve this silence? I did nothing, which was more than enough. Only the dead deserve silence. We just aren’t ready.

Tomorrow. Will be a new day. Another ordinary day. No monsters, no heroes, no miracles. Who needs them? When night descends, you fantasize of tangerine skies. Keep your fingers crossed. We’ve met before, I think. This isn’t a cry for attention. This is eternity personified. And don’t you know that progress moves in circles?

Transparency. Misunderstood and praised and broken. To be comprehended is to be superficial, complexity necessitates a certain remoteness, depth should always remain out of reach. So what if you want to pour your soul on a page, turn your longings into questions, your awe into exclamation marks, your sorrow into verses, your pain into long sentences and mercifully empty words?

You may take the risk, but don’t expect them to embrace or forgive you for breaching the invisible line. Protect yourself by keeping your confessions hidden. Better, still, to preserve them as they are. Fleeting. Unspoken. Pure.

No lessons in morality, today. Feel free to feed your expectations to the dogs before leaving the building.