Hidden by the glare of the spotlight, shadow become substance. Me. You?
You'd think I turned my back on you. Not so, ever. I read you as I ever did, when I know where to find you. Avid, I drink any word that may mean you feel anything for me as I continue my static search.
The barbs, I ignore until I get indisputable confirmation.
The purported photo from Uganda fooled everyone, who preferred to accept and transmit the believable fiction. That's why our revolution is doomed. People prefer the easy explanation and mistake it for Ockham's blade.
I found a heady freedom, that of not caring what the world says or does. There's only so far down anyone can be pushed before reaching that point.
Am I crazy? I'm in no doubt, for we all are. The dangerous ones are invariably the self-righteous who assert others' madness as a means to conceal their own. Invariably.
Free to come and go, to say or keep silent.
I iron my best clothes for that rendezvous of ours, and count the minutes. How did that quote of the Little Prince go?
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