A letter to a dear friend on existence and its lack thereof

 

I don’t exist beyond the doors of this coffee shop.

I don’t exist beyond the space of this classroom.

I don’t exist beyond the width of this bed.

I don’t exist beyond the boundaries of this house.

I don’t exist beyond the blood that flows within me.

I don’t exist beyond the coordinates of this city.

 

I don’t exist beyond the walls of I’ve built around me over the years.

I don’t exist beyond the borders of my mind.

 

I don’t exist.

 

I don’t allow myself to.

 

I don’t allow myself to be fully who I am at every given moment.

 

I wear the different roles like I change my clothes.

 

I’m never a full person. I’m never body, mind, and soul.

 

I’m always either, or. Sometimes neither, nor.

 

I pursue nothing I truly want. I only pursue what I think I need. What I think will make me a better me.

 

Always enhancing, never truly exploring. Never finding.

 

How long will I go on being a quarter of a human?

 

Where can I run without looking back?

Where can I dance without the fear of not being talented enough?

Where can I sing without a care of what I sound like?

Where can I laugh and not worry when I’ll cry next?

Where can I write and not criticize my own sentences as soon as I lay them down?

 

Where can I exist if not with you?

 

Where can I exist if not in you?

 

Yours truly,

Null.