no one is watching; no one was ever watching. I will always and forever disappoint the expectation. why can’t I be without having to be, to you or for you or anyone for that matter? if I wanted I could make friends out of flowers or old lipsticks or the dust that clings to fan blades. this place is wonderful if you’re dead. this place could be where you meet your lover but only after you have died and they have no idea who you are and how much you would have loved them. but the possibility still hangs about like a hopeful onlooker who has stayed long past the show, sticking around with the trash and the wind that just blows the trash around, wondering if there’ll be an encore performance just for him.