There’s a feeling that one cannot quite depict – to begin where it ended; The Transparent Self and an Absolute other’- or in reverse; ‘An Absolute Self and a Transparent Other’.

This transparency belongs to the self and is something that you think you should be – someone that you are but do not show – a one-self but also another-self, elsewhere. There are multiple transparencies, but still you can never find the one that makes an entrance for the exit point (manifesting into the room with multiple people), however it floats around and you begin to wonder why it has taken you so long to access this self that cannot be fully exposed, but its presence is there as you can feel it. But the problem is that you’re the only one who can.   

It’s 4pm and I haven’t heard. The fountains sound beautiful. Especially in the heat of the afternoon. The sun is burning my left arm that is holding this page as I write. I miss it. I’m missing everything but I’m not sure whom or why.  

I’ve spent the afternoon wondering around quaint east end shops that ease happiness within them – peaceful and friendly as I pick up odd shaped vases and coffee cups. I’m touching materialism; items that I’m not going to buy but would look pretty in my home, somewhere else that’s not here.

I’ve filled myself up with expectations of you along with the idea that I may just hate you slightly for the way you are, but of course that isn’t true. I sincerely adore you – it’s what made me like you in the first place. It’s mixing and pooling through me as I try to explain your actions to myself when you were here. It was raining and I can still hear it. I can still smell you and I can still taste you in this stillness, but your eyes don’t see me anymore. Your words don’t move me anymore and my hands don’t touch you anymore. It’s cold but the rain keeps it warm inside a safe space with you. I’m leaning on the beat of your chest where desires override conceptions of reality. The electric ocean of sound is drowning, and through the glass we cannot touch. Ear pressed I read to you as you sleep. But I’m not sure you can hear:

 “Your cravings fill me and your scent becomes me, and I hear you screaming in the silence and your voice rises in the mute as waves crash before you. So silent and still. Where you embedded my head with your hands. My mouth is filled with earth like a blow against the wind, stopping myself from measuring myself with your breath. And I name you softly, and I know that you hear me, and I think of you in my always. You’ve moved me and my touch, and I know that you reached me” …

I look for you, always. I follow you and I embrace the cold now that has crept in unknowingly. It’s all for you but it’s different now. I know. You didn’t take all of me with you. Just a small fraction that may erase over time. But when you left, you left every single part of you with me and it kills me to still feel it. The broken pieces of me are scattered between every whole part of you as I attempt to piece something together between the cracks that I hold onto.

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