De:scent

There's that brief moment in a morning, when you linger in dreams and your backbone still assumes the fresh start of a new day. It disappears quickly, dissipates like morning mist on a still lake burned off by summer heat and you don't know how to recapture it. Could you start over? Reverse your steps into bed and paint a new backdrop for the day? I stare into the light therapy box like it has answers, like it has promises, but it only beams its sunny indifference at me, I am still alone with this cinderblock in my chest. She says fake it till you make it but it seems to me eventually you have faked it so long you no longer have anything real inside yourself and then what does it matter if you are smiling on the outside?

All we want is to be seen, to know that we exist. 

I turn the camera off my computer. I know exactly what that means.