The Magic and the Tragic

There was a time when I was not alone.
A time not too far away when I was in the company of kindred.
Times that made me forget that all of us are tiny sailboats in the ocean.

Tending to our tiny vessels, we flash signals at each other.
Interpreting some
Misinterpreting most others.

The company of the ones who think like I do for short spells
Made me feel I had finally reached some port of calling.
A port where I could drop anchor and spread roots.

But then either I leave or they do and again adrift in open seas.
Sometimes I signal to the moon at night hoping that it is indeed the satellite
For earthly emotions and sends my thoughts to you.

I am stupid and its true.
I love the same movies you do.
I watch it so that I can feel the same way as you.

Now I switch my television off.
I hate movies. Hate them enough.
Its no longer my escape.

This is just my delirium.
I want to be feverish.
I want to be insensate.

(Subsequent edit: I don't remember typing this at all. I opened blogger and found this draft of something fed by insomnia maybe. Maybe it was unfinished by the version of me who stayed up that night. But let the one who is awake now consider this finished and set it free on an electronic sky. Fly Fly Fly.)