• We don't give sympathy. A strange kind of tired. Expense. Feeling grotty. Only because i thought you would be the one [for now]. But another day goes by and you still aren't anything to do with my life so i force myself to let go as if i was ever holding on. It will never be finished. It will never be evenly spread. It will always be nothing and then everything. It will never be something. Something more. Anything? I'm too picky for that. But because i don't want to fall, i'll continue to live like i'm on stage. Acting out the person i created in my imagination. Knowing them better than i know myself. Perfect. Yet never getting anywhere. An imaginary person only survives in imaginary surroundings. A real person needs real surroundings. Surreal is too much. Is this really me? Have i stolen your key? Am i secretly copying it in the dark room below the openness? I'll add it to my keyring, so full of copies i can never find the original and stand before the door to my future. Desperately searching for the one that fits. Time runs out. And i'm left to open the only door that remains. Keyless. Will you be on the other side?

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