conversation with myself

tonight i finished reading a book. i finished reading a book on the blue feather couch in the living room. the couch reminds me of the renaissance. and on that couch, i cried. i cried after i closed the book. i was mourning the end of the story - because i'd been reading it for several weeks, and growing attached, and leaning on it for support, and going to it for connection, and then it was over. and the end was like a finely cut crystal with so many sides and reflective colors and i felt so alive and yet so claustrophobic and i wanted to scream and jump out of my skin, but i can't because i'm human. so i walked outside, down the dimly lit staircase and i stood outside for seconds, but i didn't even feel like i was walking, i was just there and it didn't feel the way i wanted it to feel. i didn't feel refreshed. so i walked back upstairs, and i continued to cry. and the tears kept coming, and i liked it. 

i can't really explain what happened. i was inspired, and yet shut down. i felt bound to something greater, and yet never more alone. the contradictions were too intense that i felt empty. and now i'm sitting in my bed with the television on mute because if there is ever any silence or a lack of faces i feel so utterly unpresent and uninvited and uncared for that i need to watch commercials without sound to feel like someone is watching me. to feel like someone is there. and i'm here typing these words, because something wants to come out, but i'm not sure what. 

and when i scroll through my address book on my iphone and look at the names of cherished friends, or people i've spoken to, no one really gets it and i'm not sure anyone ever will, and maybe people scroll past my name when they are feeling low and overwhelmed and they pass my number or maybe they hesitate over it and wonder if they should call, but they don't because i don't understand them. and maybe that's just the way the world works. 

i'm tired now. my eyes are heavy. my stomach's worn. the faces from the television screen beckon me, seduce me, tell me i'm not alone, but i am. those deceivers. those glowing thieves. stealing my time and my energy and my brain and my heart. but it's easier. it's easier with them. easier than crouching alone on the blue couch that reminds me of the renaissance after reading a bunch of moving words and having no one to experience it with but myself. and so in a sense, i am writing these words to myself. and in the end, this is just a conversation with myself. my self. me. mine. who? i don't know. some girl sitting here. hey. hi. hello.