There are no houses where I live, well, there are but I can’t go in. There are trees I can’t touch, lawns I can’t tread on, and lives I can’t change. I watch as everything moves about me, I wait for the sound but its not there.

There is a profound disturbing quality to this because you expect it, you almost want it, you need it. It helps explain so much, but the people here no longer talk, they don’t honk horns or slam doors; they glide without purpose, exist without a definitive plan. I’m not alone, I know some of them can see me but they ignore me, I know there are others like me, stranded, waiting somewhere with acknowledgment – the silence kills us, I want to be alive again.

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