Sometimes,
I stare at the smudge where the sun leaps through blinds and spills a shadow,
across the room,
behind the blank dark empty of the dead television, staring.
I stare and I think and my emotions are gone
and I am gone gone gone gone gone.
I stare until
it is not a shadow,
in my mind,
alive.
But
I know it is a shadow, flat,
and the sun will forget and let the dark swallow us both.
I know, even when I think it is something it is not,
it is not.
I know, if I shift my eyes a subtle glance
the lines will blur and smooth and fall flat again,
a shadow.
I know, I know, I know.
But I am holding something together.
I hope somewhere, sometime, somehow, someone is looking at me, too, maybe,
and
unlike me,
will not look away.