i watched a man speak once. he told of the stars, planets, and people- and how they all came to being. some people say a picture is worth a thousand words, but no one ever gives the worth of words that create images. he created images of blackness- of a non-existent identity.
he told me about the birth and made very clear that it was the only beginning that ever really existed. he said, "the creation of something is the start- and nothing happens before the start. there is no god to shoot a gun or shout, 'go'". there was no time- and time is really the only living thing to this very day.

my head collapses inwards- my eyes explode with small white lights and swirling colors.

i have seen people wearing beige sweaters and carrying meaningless charts, and they always seem to win at life. i see you become one of these people- your dreams are rotten, and your hope is only there as a survival tactic. i used to think that i knew you, and you told me what you thought right.

you spoke about life as if you knew something- even though you are just a privileged girl that always gets that which she asks for. you know not of feelings- only of notions; of ideas. you have shriveled even further and yet you do not feel the pain of understanding.

you are sitting on the pavement and your shoes are by your side. you act as if you are carefree, when really you are afraid of losing. you know not that the scared always win in this twisted world- that the weak always triumph because they are given unnecessary aid. you sit there clutching onto your worn out sneakers that hold so many memories; so many adventures, and all you see is a ticking clock, moving closer and closer to the unwanted destination.

i nearly reached out and held you once- i nearly put my arm around your shoulder and held you to my chest telling you, "it will be all right," but i never had half the heart to lie to you, and i know you are a hopelessly old stain on an otherwise pure white sheet.

i have always been afraid of dying- afraid of missing things. it seems to me that you are afraid of living. you do not pray to a god because prayer is always sincere, and you have never been sincere in anything but pity.

i have looked into your eyes and seen shame and guilt, because the good intentions never got off land. you will remain grounded forever, i hope, because maybe after several lifetimes you will learn to appreciate that which not everyone has- time.

the galaxies are contained in my irises- and with them the absence of god.