Sunday, April 6, 2014

The best thing is that everyone expects to be listened to,
but nobody wants to listen.

And they stuffed cotton balls into their ears
because they're oh-so-so-so comfy.
I have an invisible friend.

Invisible because I have no real proof of his existence.
He's intangible to me.
He's a wall of text and a flat-screen-image.

To care, to care, to care...
it means:
a willingness to listen?

I don't have all of those ever,
and sometimes none of them,
but I care. I know, because that's the word that comes to mind,
and would I lie to myself?

I have an invisible friend.
He asks me to write about him.
I don't think that he thinks that I will,
but here I am.

This friendship is a little selfish, see,
because my invisible friend reminds me of a "real" friend
that I lost a long time ago.
I like to pretend that they're the same person.
They seem like it.

The funny thing is that when it all boils down to it,
no matter how many friends I have
or people I encounter,
I feel like I'm just talking to myself
all day long.
I see a little bit of myself in everyone,
and everyone seems to be a little piece of me.