(the) Metroids

I tell myself I care. I tell myself I don't.

Try to get passionate, about music, photography, writing. Composition, certainty, predictions.

I listen to the songs that remind me of my past.

There are people I will never see again. There are people I will never get to see. There are those I tell I miss under immovable fact, that perhaps I left my heart and soul in their sofa cushions, and they tell me over and over that it's not there.

I try to keep them on the line for just a bit longer, but there is someone at the door and perhaps it's the postman or perhaps it's the friend I never am and never seem to be, the friend who's actually there.

My hand reaches out to those who aren't. I grasp at flinching hands.

We look eye to eye by staring at camera lenses.

I deal with fact, I'm no where. I deal with emotion, no where again. Isolation in mind, body, and spirit. The stale air cradles and rocks me to sleep.