Familiar faces, etched into memory.  A scream, a shout, and spontaneous bouts of contagious laughter.  A friendly smile, kind-hearted hand, and tears streaming down my face as I am wrapped in the arms of someone whose face I do and do not know.

Idyllic.  Surreal.  All these things I feel, and yet I am still somewhat unmoved, my heart distant, shielding itself behind my ever-thinking mind.  Interpolating and dissecting true happiness until it is all a sham.  I am not lonely, I never was because I am not alone.

Reaching deep into the abyss of blackest water I pull out my old mask, bleached white by an unknown light.  It no longer fits my face and I discard it on the rocky shore only to break against the surface of my mind, the pieces splintering into nothingness.

Am I myself?  Am I something more, or perhaps less?  No, for in doing I am being and I being I am.

Nothing can be explained.

No, rather it can only be explained through the eyes and the heart, not words.  Words are fallible and tend to form improperly as they are issued from our minds to our lips.

…

I’m sorry, from the deepest recesses of my heart, if I hurt you.

B.K.