i can't see the future anymore. it's all faceless people and nameless locations. so, exactly the way it is now. i don't think anybody can see me either. i don't remember my days. it's okay because they don't really matter. the people here now won't be the people here then. i don't care either way. it's not like i'll remember. it's useless. nothing changes the way i feel. bullet-proof misery. it doesn't matter how many more people i talk to. other people can't help me. they landed me this way, but they can't save me now. i'm biking the long way on purpose. i'm stopping to smoke, and then spitting the whole ride home. little kids stare at me with wide and shocked eyes. i look back at them with wide and jaded eyes. i want to smile, but i know that i'll just grimace. it's not worth it. i'd say that i was "dying" in that sylvia plath and tibetan philosophy sense of the word, but i wasn't really alive to begin with. i think "decaying" is a more appropriate verb. it's hard to like yourself when you have a rotting personality.

i stood inside of the bus terminal, staring out of the window into the cold night. he was sitting on a ledge and smoking a cigarette outside of the bus terminal beside the one i was in. i finally walked outside and he watched me as i approached the smoke curling out of his mouth.

me: excuse me, could i buy a cigarette off of you?

man: *mumbles something in a vague european accent*

me: sorry, could i buy a cigarette? is 50 cents enough?

man: *pulls out a cigarette from his jacket* don't worry about it.

me: thank you very much. could i please also borrow a light?

he pulled a lighter out of his jacket and i leaned in to light my cigarette. i exhaled a cloud of smoke and tasted the bitter sweetness i had craved for more than a year. i sat down beside him.

me: thank you. i appreciate it.

man: what is your name?

me: ash. what's yours?

man: ash. is that short for something?

me. yes, it's short for ashita.

i said my name the way it was supposed to be pronounced. usually, i opted to use the anglicized version that the people here were able to contort their tongues to say.

man: ashita. what does it mean?

he pronounced it correctly.

me: well, i suppose it means "tomorrow" in japanese.

man: hm, interesting.

me: sorry, may i ask your name?

man: my name is emmanuel.

me: oh, nice. where are you from?

emmanuel: i am not sure. i am still trying to figure that out.

me: well, i hope you do soon!

emmanuel: as do i. me: i'm from india.

emmanuel: which part?

me: the south.

emmanuel: oh, have you ever been to pondicherry?

me: no, i would like to though.

emmanuel: yeah, i have heard that it's very nice. i would like to travel there someday.

me: you should! have you ever heard of agra, varanasi, or hyderabad?

emmanuel: varanasi, yes. there is a great temple there.

me: yeah, and the ganga river.

emmanuel: oh, yes.

me: so, what are you doing in [this city]?

man: no clue. it's funny. i walk these streets the same way i have walked those in the past. i earn the same reputations as before. it's unavoidable. *laughs*

me: are you a poet?

emmanuel: no, why do you ask?

me: oh, you speak like one.

emmanuel: i have poetic tendencies, but i am not a poet.

me: oh, i see.

we sat in silence for a minute.

me: this is the first cigarette i have had in more than a year.

emmanuel: oh, congratulations! *laughs*

me: thank you! *laughs* how long have you been smoking for?

emmanuel: since i was 14. my first cigarette was a marlboro light in california. good times! *laughs*

me: *laughs* i'll bet!

emmanuel: how old were you when you came to canada?

me: i was six. i am 16 now.

emmanuel: ah, so 10 years.

me: yes, i suppose. may i ask how old you are?

emmanuel: i am 21, but i am still not sure who i am or what i am here for.

my bus pulled up to the terminal. i threw my cigarette on the pavement and the embers flared slightly at the impact. i stood up and rubbed them out with my foot.

me: that's my bus. i have to go. i hope you find what you're looking for.

emmanuel: someday, i will. maybe it's-

i had already begun to walk away and i missed the rest of what he said. it could have been "you", but that's probably just wishful thinking. i watched him from the window of the bus as it pulled away. he did not look at the bus or at me in the bus. he continued to stare forward as the smoke continued to twist up to the sky.

"strangely fulfilled by the idea of loving strangers and hating my few remaining friends." -pw

i don't feel as lost now knowing that there is a man who is sitting outside a bus terminal of a city he has no idea what is he is doing in. someday, he will find a city with his purpose enclosed. and maybe someday, i'll believe in purpose.

the song always ends. the concept of time still eludes me. repeat. i have lost track of the days. i lost track of them very quickly. i refuse to count them again because to do so would be to give up. who is to say that you even existed? i removed every proof of it. i say your name to myself in my head at least once a day though. i don't want to forget you because you were a warning. i forget very easily. i repeat my mistakes very easily. "this will be different because i am different." i am never different. i simply forget who i used to be and confuse who i am to be a new persona. i have not changed. it is possible that i will never change. time elapses. the song ended and i did not even notice. i am remembering you strongly now but tomorrow i will be swept away by the tides of routine once again. oh, the salt water of monotony as it burns my throat and eyes. who am i to pass any judgement with my cracked lips and protruding ribs? my long, dark hair is tied up in a knot because i cannot be ferocious today. a lion without its mane is just another useless mammal. love me. anybody. i don't even care. maybe i never did. hell, maybe i never will. who am i? who am i to ask who i am?

the sun won't smile at the flower anymore. the flower keeps waiting and watching, but the rays never glance off her petals. the world is a cold place when the sun does not laugh. the sound of this joy sends waves of heat to all who are near. the lack of the sun's happiness bruises spring. the hurt spring cries and the tears freeze in this low temperature. the flower is killed and nobody cares, including me.