The Night Has A Million Eyes

I feel sometimes that I'm being watched by someone or something from afar. Some days I think I hear that someone laughing; other days, crying. I woke up early this morning and wrote a letter to no one. Some nights I want to talk and not discuss. I just want to be heard, without a care for the response of the listener. I don't want to see anyone's face or hear their voice. I just want to say things. It's a difficult desire to fulfill because it's nearly impossible for people to respond in no way to your thoughts. But a letter to no one helps in some small way. Because I can say what I want. The problem, though, is that I still want someone to know what I'm thinking and feeling.

This post probably makes no sense. And it lacks metaphor and all the snazziness of my regular posts. Of course, it's absurd that I should be so self-appreciative of whatever modicum of writing ability I have. Some days I want to be inspected, my mind probed for all its secrets and unspoken truths. I want someone to pry through my life and see what I am and what I pretend to be. I want someone to find all of the pieces of the puzzle that are me and put them together, then show me the picture they form, however incomplete it may be at age 22.

I have left the lid open to my personal chest, allowing unfettered access to the deepest parts of me. But there's no one interested in taking a peek. There's no one in the room. There's no one in the house. Some days it feels like there's no one in the world.

"What is happiness to you, David?"

A companion who won't leave me when the path gets rough, the skies dark and the night cold. Someone who will carry me when I can't walk, who will lean on me when they're hurting. A person who isn't afraid to look into the box and put together pieces of the puzzle that they find. I just want someone to be with.


Would you catch me if I was falling?
Would you kiss me if I was leaving?
Would you hold me cause I'm lonely without you?