Obsessed with reverence but abhorrent of worship. It is weakness, mind-twisting, indoctrinating. But will we always revere until we've scraped up our knees; until we've given too much of our palms; until we hate ourselves and turn green in spite? The jaded shine on your cheek, the same one that kissed the ground beneath my feet - was it always meant to appear? Were you never meant to stay?

I'm sick and tired of being the angry dog, growling and tugging against the chain. Let me in. Let me lay down on the warm blanket by the fireplace. My fur may be mangled and wet, but it is still soft and glows like the sun.

It's really cold out, much earlier than I expected. My cheeks are red like that night when I leaned over the bridge. I think about you often these days. Someone told me you're speaking to me in cryptic ways. I want to believe they're right because I don't think I'm staying here much longer, and I'd really like to see you before I go. There's still a few things I'd like to do before the cold frosts over.

I asked the tree, with its leaves littered across the pavement in the middle of summer, if it hurts to watch your guts spilled on the concrete floor beside your body. I asked if it would have anything left to shed by the time the cold breezes came around town. It whispered, it doesn't matter how I feel; it's the way it is. What matters is my bark that will be touched by the dawn of new centuries you will never see.

Loud laughter plays out on a bright animated screen. I glance to my side and share a smile with our group scattered across the row. Their smiles twitch. Uncanny Valley. I'm not supposed to be here. Oh no, I've done it again. I've wormed my way into people's lives and tricked myself into believing my own delusion of forever. Now, I must quietly excuse myself because I was never invited in the first place. Why must I only realize halfway through? Will I just be a dream? Something you made up in the haze of passing seasons? The routine of quiet shuffling up a theatre aisle feels familiar today, and before I know it, the door swings shut behind me. I fear I'm doomed to grow apart from ninety-nine percent of everyone I meet. I've run through so many people that I don't recognize myself anymore.

Everything always comes back to the simple truth - is everything I'm feeling true or is there something deeply twisted in knots in my head and the sick mush of my brain will one day be studied in textbooks that explain the dreams of a mad author.

I don't know if you believe in the red string, but today, I feel it tugging and biting my skin. In the early hours of the morning, the thin threads squeezed my neck and wrists till I turned a beautiful lavender. I am left with nothing but your name and the epiphany that it was never about the mess we made. It was always about my fear, this unbearable pit at my stomach that gathered when I remembered today that you weren't a story I made up. That you were real. That you really saw me, perceived me in a way I had been waiting my whole life for. But bitter are the harmless wishes we weave myths around. Being completely seen petrifies me. I feel nauseous and frozen, and all I want to do is run away from my own body. I forgot what that felt like until today, until that thread tightened. And I fear tonight it will draw blood.

On the bus today, I was thinking about how my future self wouldn't let me stay this way, so they definitely know more about me than I myself do now. For a brief moment, when we spoke, I could see them. Old and wrinkled. And it hit me - before today, before June 8th, 2024, I had never once seen myself old. Older perhaps, but not old, elderly. It felt like something inside me had healed and the timeline had shifted a couple months ago, and perhaps in this lifetime, I will grow old and I will know what it feels like to live for years and years.