darkness has settled over my room like a thick sheet of fog, shrouding my vision and my mind

it's hard to think when i'm like this.

worry bubbles deep in my chest and a familiar pulse begins to quicken

i want to help.

isn't that what i've always wanted?

for years, chasing after the ghosts of the past was all i could think to do

phantoms slipping through my fingers, smoke in the wind

a trace of a melody here and there, just enough to make me keep trying

is it enough to love someone?

is it any different than smothering?

i fear i will drown us both in my terror but you tell me it is shallow water

tepid and gathered around my ankles, barely enough to splash

for you it has always been the worst of a hurricane

a tidal wave is nothing in comparison, even if it sweeps me out to sea

i want to be helped.

years and years of giving my life, of parsing my words

a trespasser who tip toes through the garden of eden

is it too much to want to belong?

is it too much to wish for a home?

is it too much to dream?

i stand in front of a pedestal, white stone and smooth, looking straight ahead at the display.

a single umbrella sits atop it.

to read the placard i am forced to crane my neck, to shift my perspective.

what are you waiting for?

i take a long drink from the glass in my hand—clear, glittering, the taste comfortably tart on my tongue—and take a step back.

how long have i spent splintering my soul to defend someone else's?

sound rushes in around me, a medley of mindless chatter and soft music, and i recall where the exhibit belongs.

there is no use in holding out an umbrella to share when they've already decided to run in the rain.

so why not keep yourself dry?