The sky, void of clouds, was littered with flight patterns. Airplanes crossed, leaving behind trails of white lines, carrying passengers to destinations unknown while birds flew in flocks, hovering on the air currents. It was all so blue.

I sat on the cement with my eyes closed, pulling at the frayed edges of my jeans and felt small. I don’t know what I look like with my eyes closed. I’ve always wondered… When the world fades to black and my mind drifts to the world of dreams, cold doesn’t bite at my skin, sharpness doesn’t prick and all around me, nothing really exists. When my eyes are closed, the nothingness takes hold and I am free. But even within the freedom of dreams lies a curious lack of satisfaction. The real question is where does the median lie?

I want to make myself dizzy. I want to drink until my stomach explodes. Everything in excess, always overdone, will you still recognize my face? Scars worn deep with shadowed eyes, I still look alive. Swimming toes through damp grass, you might see me smiling, on the outside. Gusts of wind blow through my hair, bending me over backwards like the flexing weeping willow branches. I empty my lungs with every yawn exhaled and feel as though my body could crumble like bed sheets. Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to be folded and then set on a shelf in the dark but I always remind myself that I'm not that limber.

I dream of searching, shrinking and screaming, always about you. Always for you. So there is really no wonder why I am always finding myself so unsatisfied upon awaking. If dreams are a reflection of my subconscious and my subconscious is based on the reality of my life then it is there that the paths cross and there the median lies. You see the problem, eternally, has always been within me.