CORRELATION

Second chances also belong to your enemies.

Isn’t it strange, how when judging you, the opinions of your non-enemies (I say non-enemies instead of friends, for my mind deems it more appropriate) may be equal in falseness to those of your enemies?

You have an itch you cannot get rid of. It is not a rash, just an itch, an irritation, like dust in your eye or a prick that is anywhere between your wrist and elbow. You have begun the numbing process, and the blood in you is itching, is trying to live. No, you say gently, soothingly, a snake with a soft tongue. No, just stay, and sleep, and wait until you are like ice, and feel nothing.

But the sun, your blood protests. The sun will melt you one day, and you will feel.

No, you say gently, soothingly, a snake with scales. No, we will just stay, and sleep, and turn into ice, and we will feel nothing.

But you realize, as you stare into a stop-sign outside the dry cleaner’s, as you touch the cold rain with your pores, that you still believe.

Who are you?

The itch, the blood, the snake, the ice, the stop-sign. The sun. The silent ambulance.

Your infantile belief, your soulful dirge of a child’s eye, this means that you are your own enemy.

Second chances also belong to your enemies.

I MISS YOU, you scream into the rain.