If I don't talk to you, I'm scared of what you'll do

I can't look at crying people

I stared at the car window as I cradled my chin in my hand and de-focused my vision so that the drops of condensation and melted snow became glitter and the adjacent street lights spilled yellow into their breasts and my window was now the universe. And all the stars could be pressed and destroyed beneath the top pad of my fingers. And I was God now.


As God I would make sure that the sky was free of cataracts and that nobody ate turkey and garlic mash alone and that everybody had somebody to go home and bury themselves in warm blankets with.

And you would be there, too. But you wouldn't be crying because you wouldn't be that happy or that sad.. but you'd still have mud and dander on your face because I like that. And you'd have someone beside you who loved you even more because of that muddy, grubby face. I'd be happy for you too.

Sooo, I didn't blink for really long because I knew that as soon as I did, you would still be crying and I would still just be saying "It's Okay" and making everything worse.

I could never be totally impartial to you.