I wish that if no one was there for me, at least I would be there for nobody.
I wish that the absence of my presence is not felt (as it is not already) but that memories of me would be like blurry photographs burned away by hazy summers. And that I would be the outline of someone standing on a distant shore, those who walk on the bottom of the sea to reach me will only find plastic propped up by an advertisement for psychotherapy. I want to drift the world like a transient woman tied down only by an obsession to leave. I want to dance in midnight covered streets, damp with moonlight and dew, singing in the silent way of the quietly insane. I need to be alone on my couch in front of my t.v. ******* on artificially sweetened dreams. I need to breathe in the still air and learn to stop giving so many *****.