you said "i can show you four days in which you died." i replied, "i didn't know you were watching." you sat down and put your face in your hands, i stood up and walked out.

some days you follow me with that camera of yours. i play the part; i look at the sky, i pigeon-toe my feet to look trendy for your lens. but i'm sick of swallowing your gray muck.

i need a change. i need out. those four days in which you say i died were the only days i've felt alive.

i will miss the vase in which you always place flowers. the blue and orange ones were my favorite. i told you that once, but you were too busy with your threads, knitting and knitting yourself away from me.

i'll also miss your hand, it used to feel so warm on my stomach. lately, though, lately, it's all so hazy. i can't remember the last time i really saw you.

so continue on, don't pause for me. in an hour i will be merely a stream of thought of a life you'd like to live. you never did have the guts to leave this place. i'm glad i do.

so hold on to your camera and the trendy things you crave.

i'm headed to a place where ideas, theories, concepts thrive, where the mysteries of life reign hard, and the petty place we lived is no more to me.