keeping me awake are things so unimportant that i don't even know what they are.

what am i crying about?

what am i thinking

in looking out the window

and at a bottle,

reflecting what's there

and showing me what's not?

where is the difference in these two,

in the window and in the bottle?

the infinite transparency,

like adelaide said.

but it's there, isn't it?

glass is still something

instead of being nothing

only

its purpose is to highlight

what it itself is not.

when i look out the window

i'm doing just that,

looking behind it,

because there is nothing to see

in the glass

only things to see beyond it.

so why should it make me cry?

because i know that there is a

science to it

but no answer?

because before, this morning,

when i turned my face into

a pillow despite the

arrival of the only clear day

in weeks, the light was different

than it is now

but it's still light

and it's still glass

and everything is here

in the way that i left it

only now there are new highlights

and there is newness in me.

i'm still here though

and i'm understanding less and less as i type,

as my thoughts move through my eyes

and tell me something to put here.

are all of these things,

seeing

thinking

writing,

separate actions?

or as a whole, a scene,

one intertwined thing?

maybe this is why we have words,

to take away this cycle from our minds

to locate us, or to freeze time.

i feel that i sound crazy to even myself,

but if not for this recording

who would know that i ever stopped moving?

this energy should go somewhere productive i think.

instead, though, i feel bolted to the ground by

all this imagery and thought

that's only getting heavier and more encompassing.

once in a while i notice

a thing pressed upon me,

and i make something

or i do something

but it is only a reflection of that one thing

that i happened to catch.

what am i doing

numbing my mind

with all this action?

i'm running to find the answer

before i have a question.

for howeverlongthatican'tevenimagine

i haven't realized that thing that drives me

and the thing that's keeping me alive.

why should i be alive ?

i think this question is worth answering

in words as well as action,

even if the act of asking this question

(even to an empty room)

is too scary to say aloud.

we should have courage for even that

because what comes later is the fact

that even if the answer were present,

i still don't know how i could

recognize something i never knew.