And when I was sick? Where were you then? Where have you been? Where I go to seek you, will you be there? Where will I go to seek you out? The mountain? The valley? When I am there, where will you be? In me? In the leaves or the sky or the grass? In the heights? In the depths?

I guess if the past is a dead man, I'll always be performing CPR on him. It's gotten pretty disgusting lately, what with the rotting and decay, but I cannot let him go. Sure, sometimes I give up, stand up and take some steps away, but I seem to end up kneeling again aside the bloated carcass.

Even in my steps away he is what I'm thinking about. I'm thinking that no matter what the truth really is I will forever be deceived by myself and better off for it. Even if I can't run from my deficiencies I can at least hide. Perhaps they will catch me eventually, and so be it. But for now I will convince myself of the right things in just the right places.

I can't take a compliment. If it would help you understand I'd do it. But it won't, nothing ever will, so I don't try. It's not that I don't believe what you say, it's just I believe you to be mistaken. Everyone is wrong. Everyone's wrong about what matters and that's all that matters. I'll never really be the type of man I am. I am not anyone's type. Anyone is my type, and around and around and around. But it's not like I try. It's not like I try to be cryptic. It just is. I just am.

I've gotten pretty disgusting lately, what with the rotting and decay. Just wait until I mean it.

Do you believe in me?

The earth is shifting, even if I cannot feel it. There is a glacier moving through my life. It is scraping all the stone off the top, crushing and tumbling and depositing all the substance of me in places I don't think it belongs. But I have no say in the result, I can no more stop it than I can melt it.

When I look back on my life what will I dwell on? All the romantic things I remember with disdain. Not because of what it meant to feel them, but what it feels like to only remember. It's not the romantic things that eat at me, but the remembering. We only remember what we no longer have.

Can you prove a desire? I think we can desire things, but we can never demonstrate our desire. You can hold hands, but it might just be to stay in place. You can hold her, but it might just be to keep warm. It all starts where it ends.