Freedom in Ethereal

I stood in place of my dreams—

backing away

realizing it was my idealism that broke me.
Within this shattered moment,

my sense of clarity,

often skewed by the blinding light of hope

became dark and muddled.
My mind wanders to an oblivion known only to myself.


The synaptic gaps of my temporal existence stop—

rendered into shade by my own hand.

Floating along a serene coastline of faith—

my spiritless form careens down mountainsides and glides through valleys.

I brave new worlds with thoughtless abandon

A sense of peace and tranquility awash my vacant form.


I am free.



Letters in Electronic

To B,

“I’m not trying to save you.” she wrote, “I’m not trying to change your life or to be someone I’m not, just to make you happy.”

“I’m writing this letter, knowing that it might find you in unhappiness. Knowing it might find you in confusion. Knowing it might disorient you, make you feel conflicted and worried. But I write it because I am not trying to fix you, I’m not trying to take your problems away–at times, I might even be the problem, but sometimes that too, can be okay.”

“I just want to scream out to the world that these feelings exist, but I quietly keep them to myself. When I tell them to you, it becomes a burden, a conflict, an entity that keeps you farther from me. The distance is not counted in miles but rather in the mental and emotional bond that once existed. Instead of speaking these words, I write them in my private oasis of daydreams and wishes. At 11:11 every day, twice a day, I wish I could just say them without ramification. Without consequence and without worry.”

“When the light is yellow and about to turn red, I release my thoughts into the electric air. They sit there for a moment or two, heavy and impactful, but before the light turns green I wash them away with a sweep of my hand. They are lost in the oblivion of this 2D world. I am not regretful, but wishful that one day all my thoughts can be shared without yellows, reds or greens dictating when I can and cannot speak. What I can and cannot say.”

“At times I know my thoughts and wonderings bring great discomfort. They are cumbersome and overwhelming. I pull back from my own head, my own thoughts. I try to hold back on thinking, feeling and sharing. The only thing that I allow is intellectualized synaptic firings in my brain. Emotionless and objective, straightforward and precise. I calculate what I am going to say and how often to write. It is a tiresome process, but I force myself into these motions to save you from the frustration of a one-sided confession.”

“When I write these letters, it is because I wish to release the burden in my mind.”

“I write these letters because one day I wish to show you that I am not going to fix your world.  I can’t change situations or push continents aside. I am not wishing or wanting to do any of that.”

“My only wish is that these situations do not dissipate what existed before the reality of the world became apparent. And that this reality does not need to be separate from what existed before.”

She wrote sincerely,  and signed her name.