I sit on the kitchen doorstep in a dark garage, sucking on a phoney cigarette. I’m aware of where I am in the blackness and know I am not a part of it. I stand, no longer having body contact except through the soles of my slippered feet. With eyes closed to blacker still I could be anywhere. I’m very much aware of the boundaries of my self, though I cannot see them. I am separate from the dark, the setting, the world around me and feel alien to it. Not belonging.
The funny part is that I can feel this way in daylight too.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Just every odd once in a while, i have this odd feeling you are me. Just with better words.
Maybe the cigarette was the only real thing?
Anne, I think your own way of putting things is so much better than my own roundabout words. You–and I know if anyone is much like me, you would be the one–would stand in the dark and say “WTF?”
Mark, if that’s true, that I’m in deeper than I thought.