One-Sided Conversations

Every day I talk to you.

It's so easy when you're not really here.

I can say anything then. And you listen, too. You don't judge. You don't get impatient and say, "Snap out of it." You don't go all cheery and say, "Time to turn that frown upside down!" You don't try to change the subject or give advice or find a solution or a million other things that just make it all worse.

Instead, you just stand by while I cough to clear my heart of all its dusty flutterings.

I open my mouth and out fly bewinged fears and self-doubts, the pale moths of where-am-I-going, what-am-I-doing, and how-can-I-be-this-old-and-not-KNOW.... Some raggedy grey ones have obviously flown through a flame or two (how can they still live??). Others are newly hatched, velvety white, with feelers like feathers and feet like knives....

And Imaginary You stands with me in the shadows and watches them as they beat themselves against the windows, dying for the light.

But they always return to me. They know I burn the brightest.