You know sometimes when you feel like a raw nerve and you just feel vulnerable and reckless and stupid and slightly mad with loneliness and you just want to talk to someone, anyone, who just for a moment, no matter how ridiculous of a thing you say, will just accept it as reality? This feeling settled in dull aches as I walked the quiet avenues in paling light. It was an interesting mood to be going to a friend’s for dinner.


I sat on their porch and thought about disconnect. The wind swayed the evening in rustling symphonies of full bloom. A bell chattered and laughter rolled in soft waves from somewhere inside the house. I sat on the porch and found my eyes gravitating toward a porch-light across the way. I used to live behind that halo of light. It had only been four years, but I may as well have been a different person, possessed a different life. How many hours did I find myself perched on that stoop like a mockingbird, mimicking sounds around me? Who lived there now? What had been the summation of their life thus far? It made me feel alien and infinitesimal. This feeling was magnified by the whine of race-cars sounding like blenders in the night; I only know the world from my own personal and limited perspective. The contents of my brain are my reality and there are billions of people out there with their own realities. I felt so distant from those people at the races, so separate from their shared enthusiasm. We only shared the sound of technology hurtling at high speeds into the night, rattling our ears.



*Illustration by Kevin Lucbert


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