Do you ever feel like life wasn’t meant for you, and wonder what destiny could belong to you instead? Do you even believe in destiny? I see the world as rhythm; my own contribution missing the beat. I feel so out-of-place almost anywhere I go. I feel like a fictive character gazing up at the night sky, wondering: is my real home out there somewhere? I know the answer, and I’m disheartened. I’ve always longed to be special. Special in all other ways than the ways I am. Would I feel the same if I was special in some of the other ways? Looking at the stars is one thing; I haven’t dreamt of them for a long time now. I’m still breathing. I’m still breathing here. Awake and breathing. I’m still closing my eyes with fair intentions. But I need convincing. I need stars in my eyes and my heart. I need the Moon to stay full for a week. Guide me. How small is man. How small is man cruising in space. Imagine it. Imagine planets. Big. Suns. Bigger. Galaxies. Immense. Universe. Inconceivable. Man. Nothing. Imagine floating in space, holding hands, lost forever. Would it be dark? How soon? Would not the Sun light up for us, just us. Would we not die floating before we reached the edge of darkness? Or will the lack of light-reflecting objects give us the clearest view of the Sun as a circle and nothing more than that? Will only we be visible? If so I am in. You’re all I want to look at. I can do without rivers and deers, as long as I can float in your doe-eyes forever. There are so many things I don’t know, and so few questions I ask. Always innuendos only. Always slightly clouded. I saw your happiness today and I thought back to ours, many years ago now. Both a start and an ending. An unlikely warning. But I’m breathing. And I’m listening to my heart, as I once listened to yours. In a different bed in the same room. And my eyes are failing me now, closing, like I closed them for you. But years pass faster than days now, and wherever I look I’m blinded by the fog, standing strong and tall as a wall around my small part of the world. There are boundaries to dreams. I’m learning. Learning about the possibilities, the impossibilities, the boundaries. Uncertain as to whether I’m actually learning about myself. Often feel like I know all there is to know, and just don’t know what to do with that knowledge. I know my shortcomings, but I know nothing of the tools to help me. I know nothing about the sincerity behind your smiling lips. I know nothing about your touch. Know only what I imagine. Know only that you fill me with the warmth of a Sun a thousand times bigger than ours. Know only that I’m bursting. Know only that. I used to dream of the future, just as I used to dream of the past, believing both directions to be equally close to reality. Now all my dreams are of some wicked present. Something that is if I make it so. I don’t even know what I want with relationships. I want the freedom to stop. Stop it all. I want the world to blow up and take me with it with no regrets. But I want to hold your hand while it does. I want our shared breath to be the last thing that is shredded to pieces. Do you see?