Touch

Crying slowly, like falling raindrops. A muted sigh that might be mine. So much sadness everywhere. I pull a tissue from the box and another grows to take its place. Life is nothing but repetition. People walk in just as easily as out. The red glow of taillights in the darkness. Raindrops on the glass making the most beautiful abstracts. Out of all this ugliness.

Faint words written in yellow chalk across the blackboard. A map, perhaps, to help me find that island. As lost as I have been, it makes me wonder if anything will be different there. It’s the lies that make the moments possible. Truth is little more than a nightlight that keeps us from walking into things.

If I go too far back I won’t exist. And then I’ll never be able to touch anyone.