Pen Pal

Pen, will you be my friend? Paper, will you be pen's lover and let me watch? You be actors and I'll set the stage. I'll start the spin. You keep it spinning.

See, pen, see, paper, I live in a place I don't belong, and I've been looking for a friend to remind me of home. Home is sweet. Home is far. No one here can imagine colors they've never seen. I miss knowing those who do.

I looked for windows. I waited for doors. But, why? I don't want to search for my exit anymore. I stopped. I'm no longer perpetually leaving. My dreams are proof.

I don't run through forests with black, scratching branches clawing my skin and raping my hair. Not anymore. I don't have to spend my sleep hovering and watching and guarding the weak. Not anymore.

My dreams are dessert, now, every night that I sleep. Now, when I sleep, my dreamers go home. I don't seek an exit anymore; now, I just look for those who remember it too. Meet me here. Meet me there. We'll do this thing or that.

Whatever it takes to melt into that place where we both see colors before names. Whatever it takes to stay in that place where the light is before the sun. (He told you there's nothing new under it!)