23:32 and hidden in bookends

[Con­fes­sion: I’m increas­ingly leav­ing mes­sages scattered across the web.]

[Like this. In square brack­ets.]

[You won’t find them, though. Because apart from being brack­eted, they’re also hid­den.]

[Because I’m wary. Care­ful. With­drawn.]

[In this way, I talk to every­one. And vari­ous someones. But also to no one.]

[I babble to myself, under my breath, as I write the words, fre­quently berat­ing myself for the sheer idiocy of my actions. Why am I doing this? What do I expect to hap­pen from it? For people to some­how sense the sen­tences, even though they’re invis­ible? For the words to some­how provide a sense of release, of relief? Neither occurs, of course. Don’t be ridicu­lous.]

[And yet I go on writ­ing. Hid­den con­ver­sa­tions to many, yet to no one but myself.]

[Blath­er, blath­er, blath­er. And close brack­ets. Done.]

Sorry, comments for this entry are closed at this time.