Stranger: I think you feel things.
Self: you think wrong.
Stranger: you have a sensitivity.
Self: like having a burn.
Stranger: but it’s beautiful, it makes you real.
Self: it makes me nothing.
Self: *stares at arm, winces at transparent scars*
Stranger: you love with courage.
Self: what is love?
Stranger: what you feel.
Self: I feel nothing.
Stranger: you lie.
Self: it’s easier.
Stranger: easier than what?
Self: easier than burning.
Stranger: but the sun is beautiful.
Self: I prefer the moon.
Self: *stares out the window at the dark sky*
Self: it doesn’t hurt us.
Stranger: but what about the floods?
Self: it’s better to drown.
Stranger: * takes a sip of wine, pours more.*
Stranger: what about your father?
Self: he’s dead, suicide.
Stranger: lies, don’t glorify it.
Self: father is sun, mother is earth.
Stranger: and the moon?
Self: my mistress.
Stranger: bullshit. He was a junkie, she was a lost cause. He’s not a God just because he’s dead.
Self: we’re all dead, existentially.
Stranger: and what about what he did to the others?
Self: spiritual dissociation, sick, dark sick, dissociation.
Stranger: and the heroin?
Self: his salvation.
Self: a broken arm, a syringe stuck in, the sun, the moon, the earth, all of it.
Stranger: and then what?
Self: we bleed.
Stranger: but of course what else could we be?
Stranger: animals are more gentle.
Self: only because you think you can tame them. You can’t. We’re all wild inside.
Power is illusion.
Stranger: and hope is futile they say; life and death choose us equally whether wanted or not, choice is also illusion.
Self: it’s both ugly & beautiful. “We can make a hell out of heaven or a heaven out of hell.”
Stranger: where are you going?
Self: to the forest, the mountains, the sea.
Stranger: but why?
Self: I am in it, it is in me.
Stranger: you are real.
Self: cancer is real.
Stranger: you are nothing.
I want to be nothing too.
Self: you are.
Stranger: I feel it.
Self: feel what?