You're not here. You weren't there.
You were here. You left there.
You left places. You filled spaces.
You drank purple stuff.
I discouraged you.
We're not here, not there.
We were everywhere.
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Don't think I forgot because I was watering the flowers outside.
They have to grow you know, they have to bloom, so the smell of fresh cut flowers can reach you. Just like the cartoons, the seductive hand drags you with her, down here, where we're still stuck. Compare us to the roots of a cactus in a deserted desert.
You ask me why I'm always talking about me and you, you and I, why? I tell you it's not about the reasons, it's about nothing. 'Cause nothing is what remains, reason is unsure and leaves us, with questions, when it leaves. It's ok, and the corners of your mouth curl into a proud grin. It's all me, conceited.
I think I need a new thing to speak about. Like persian fables, told mouth to mouth, for hundreds of ancient years. I want to be that one link in the chain, that changes the story into something heroic. Not just delivering, but also adding. Multiply myself, and adding myself to everything, and everyone around me. I know you don't like it, but it's you, that taught me to have these grotesque ideas.
So let me be you, let me be us, and I will make decisions that will make the flowers bloom even more. And someday, if I'm trying to reach out my hand, all in despair, I'll be glad if you deny it.