Reaching into confusion

That chill across my elbow, along my arm, circling my cheek, is that you? I’ve waited a thousand nights and still you do not come. I skip a stone across the surface of dark water and know the thud with which it drops through the wet, murky color to the soft mud beneath, but I can’t keep my eyes or my dreams off the ripples across the surface.

I stand still, gaze down at the concrete path beneath my feet. Which crack is you? Where does it come from and where does it lead? How can I help you? Which door, which path out of the dark?

Silence.

You bleed late into the night, without a sound, not even a whimper. And there’s nothing for us to see but dark stains and the shadow in your voice, the saturation of your thoughts. I call. Your answer is there, I know it's there. But you don't speak out loud. Not to me, not to her. Not for you.

I would crush the light in my heart, throw it onto the street, hope for a few sparks in the skids to light your way. Isn't that what friends are for?

There is no answer, save what’s caught up in your mind. Your beautiful, unreachable mind.