I'm not real, but I pretend I am in words.
March 22, 2010
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There are worse things than being alone.
Sometimes I long for a lonely apartment to come home to. To turn on a small lamp to warm the darkness as I pretend I am not afraid of the monsters and ghosts lurking behind doors, under the bed. I long to eat what I like, or not eat at all, with candles lit and a good book, and wine.
I want to be perfectly still inside a cocoon of my own making, nestled in myself like a seed.
- prose poem
