Is there meaning here? I stare into space oblivious to all but my own numbness, hoping for a call - a beckoning voice to draw me back from the edge of my self-imposed exile. Drop the feathery gauze from these old, battered lenses and push me if necessary out of the warm niche carved long ago in this mount of regret.
Last night, I dreamt I was a jigsaw puzzle – a background of deep, midnight blue, sprinkled with golden stars. Someone came along and broke me apart, my round edges curling up as they separated.
Thin fingers pierced the middle of each cardboard edge with green metal hooks, the kind used to hang Christmas bulbs. Each piece of me was then threaded and hung from the ceiling.
Soon, I found myself twisting and turning upon the whims of the air current – 500 paper flares, now a floating constellation.
Where did I go? I swear I was just right here, feeling fine, but now I look around and I’m nowhere to be seen.
I guess I’ll have to break out the “lost self” posters and nail them to every tree on our block.
If I’m found, I’m afraid there is no reward, but my hungry cats will be most grateful.