I can see you now.
It's amazing. I can see you, for the first time in ages.
And you can see me. We're sharing an awkward, intimate stare.
My hand is pressed against the glass dome that contains you.
There's black smoke clouding your environment, but it doesn't matter.
There are cracks from my fights with it,
often beating the sides
and throwing mass energy, fueled by anger and desperation
and need.
but you see me now.
Yes, you see me.
You're looking right at me.
My vocal cords have atrophied.
Your expression seems confused and sad. You press your hand against the glass.
I want to take my hand away, to hide.
but I don't.
No, I can't.
You can finally see me.
Running away, I cannot see.
Most of my muscles have given way now,
under the pressure of your stare.
I am conscious of the need to move, to prove I'm real.
But I don't know where to go
or what to do.
I don't want to frighten you.
I don't want you to leave.
My other hand touches the thick glass, where your face would be.
I wish then I could touch you, to heal the scars across your eyes;
The many scars I've dealt you,
to medicate them.
But I must settle with distant touch.
Staring, I see so much pain.
So much hidden in your eyes.
So much no one can see, no one can see you.
No one can see us, but we're almost touching.
I want to heal the scars on your face.
But my muscles are stiff.
I realized how important this moment is.
I realized how much more I have to tell you.
I trace the crack in the dome with my finger.
It doesn't frighten you, but you're still. Hand pressed against the glass. Against mine.
I punch the crack with contained force, and a puff of smoke emits. I smell it before it hits me.
Marijuana.
Perfume.
Ignorance.
Money.
Carelessness.
Excitement.
Youth.
Your stare digs deep into my thoughts. You live in this constant high, and yet, you still press your hand to the wall. You press your hand to mine, though I offer none of these things; I offer uncertain future, I offer truth. You live in a world absent of these things... And you press your hand to mine.
You Still Believe in Me.
It's amazing. I can see you, for the first time in ages.
And you can see me. We're sharing an awkward, intimate stare.
My hand is pressed against the glass dome that contains you.
There's black smoke clouding your environment, but it doesn't matter.
There are cracks from my fights with it,
often beating the sides
and throwing mass energy, fueled by anger and desperation
and need.
but you see me now.
Yes, you see me.
You're looking right at me.
My vocal cords have atrophied.
Your expression seems confused and sad. You press your hand against the glass.
I want to take my hand away, to hide.
but I don't.
No, I can't.
You can finally see me.
Running away, I cannot see.
Most of my muscles have given way now,
under the pressure of your stare.
I am conscious of the need to move, to prove I'm real.
But I don't know where to go
or what to do.
I don't want to frighten you.
I don't want you to leave.
My other hand touches the thick glass, where your face would be.
I wish then I could touch you, to heal the scars across your eyes;
The many scars I've dealt you,
to medicate them.
But I must settle with distant touch.
Staring, I see so much pain.
So much hidden in your eyes.
So much no one can see, no one can see you.
No one can see us, but we're almost touching.
I want to heal the scars on your face.
But my muscles are stiff.
I realized how important this moment is.
I realized how much more I have to tell you.
I trace the crack in the dome with my finger.
It doesn't frighten you, but you're still. Hand pressed against the glass. Against mine.
I punch the crack with contained force, and a puff of smoke emits. I smell it before it hits me.
Marijuana.
Perfume.
Ignorance.
Money.
Carelessness.
Excitement.
Youth.
Your stare digs deep into my thoughts. You live in this constant high, and yet, you still press your hand to the wall. You press your hand to mine, though I offer none of these things; I offer uncertain future, I offer truth. You live in a world absent of these things... And you press your hand to mine.
You Still Believe in Me.
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