In Conversation with You

In Conversation with You.

To whom am I speaking to?
I wonder.

I feel as though I am writing. Speaking. And even breathing. In an Echo Chamber.
Sharing difficult things. As I type. Communicating in ways that I rarely can achieve with a person. At least in person.

Writing a buffer between us. Poetically crafting a space between us.
Seperating us. Yet keeping you close enough to see a form that I will struggle to share with you otherwise.
Keeping you far away enough to allow you to hide your presence. From my line of sight.

Who are you? Who is reading this?

What do you think about what I am saying. Do we share a common meaning?
Where are you? I wish I could find you. I wish I could know what it is, right now, that you’re feeling.

To whom do I write?
When I get riled up. And chant in militant language. With whom do I fight?

I don’t know. And yet I do.

Passion, I’m told is fleeting.
And there is a pain that comes with it. When you start retreating.
But I still have hope. That my messages will reach their destination.
I still have hope that the knots in my head and the twists in my heart will meet salvation.
I still have hope that you are there with me.
That you moved as we ebb. That you are swayed as we flow.

There are so many questions. That I’d like to ask you. Dear Reader.
But, to do so would be to continue to shout in this endless hall of mirrors.
Here in this space, where I am left with not much more than the sight of my vanity.
Left to engage with you. Through my own reflection. Engaged with a hollow conversation. Stopping before too long. Preserving my sanity.

I wish so badly.
To speak to you.
To pull you out of the depths of the distance between us.
I want to see you and to know you.
To hear you.
And to grow with you.

And yet. If you where to appear in front of me. I don’t know what I’d even say.
How would I capture your attention. Convince you that it’s purposeful. To remain in conversation with me. That it’s worth it to stay.

I think.
I am in Conversation.
With You. Constantly.
Even with you hidden in your anonymity.
I know you’re there. Somewhere.
I know that like me. You’re not happy.
I know that you care.
And I know that you too, yearn to be heard. And to be understood.

I’m going to try and be ready to listen to you when you’re ready.
I’m going to bite my tongue. Let you speak. And encourage you. To keep your voice steady.

I’m here for a conversation.
With you.
When you ask. I’ll be there. No hesitation.

I will find you. In this boundless hall of mirrors.
I will continue to chant into the ether.
I will make music from my own echo.
While you listen, just beyond the horizon.
I know, although I can’t hear you.
You and I. Will forever be tied together.

In conversation.


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