Not the kind of sick that's going to be solved by acid reducers or nasal spray.
Not the kind of sick where the right pills would have me bike riding and kayaking with a partner whose health I repect.
Hell, not even the kind of sick where I can lay on a couch and some jerk with a notepad can make a flow chart of by life.
I'm sick like a junkie.
Sick in a 'Daddy needs his medecine' kind of way.
Only what I need does not exist.
I'm sick because the entire world is at war with my brain... with my heart.
Everything I have ever known or seen is trying with all its might to convince me that you do not exist.
That you have never existed.
That you will never exist.
This entire world with all of its beakers and tubes, all of its prayers and religion, its silicon chips and tissue cultures all of the math, science, religion, blood, sweat, tears and money - it can not make you exist. It will not let you exist.
And oh, my heart of hearts, how I miss you.
I miss the never-was and the blinding light of truth.
I miss the stories and the aching bones.
The rain, the wind and that ominous tapping on the window.
Sometimes, I slip. I think I see your reflection somewhere.
I chase through the night, capering after ignis fatuus for time untold, only to find another husk, dry and cracked.
I feel as though my longing could move a world.
Yet it keeps not happening.
Slowly, all the world outside starts to take its toll and I begin to doubt.
My sanity. You. The past, the future, time itself! I begin to doubt myself.
That... That makes a pain inside of me.
A pain that turns into a rage. A rage that fuels my heart while it is consumed of the pain until in a brilliant shattering glory, I burn.
The ashes stir and Something That Looks Like Me comes out.
It eats my memories, consumes the shards of my personality.
I start all over again.
Waiting. Searching. Forever.
It's becoming tedious, my darling, this eternity.
If I could stop seeing your reflection, pale and wan, as if in a frosted glass then maybe I could forget.
But I can't help that. There are times that the light shines your colour and it's been so long since I've seen you that even the faint glow blinds me and I am drawn like the moth. Relentlessly and endlessly, my love.
Maybe you do not exist. Perhaps you never did. Maybe you're fragmented into a thousand bright stars and all I can see is your reflection mingled with the base essence of another. I can never put you back together again. Insanity creeps at the corners of my mind with teeth, bitter and sharp.
Or maybe, we all have the capacity...
And nobody bothers to polish.
This is maybe the worst idea of all because it speaks of a million lost causes, an infinity of sinking ships.
I am not fit for this world.