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The eyes are heavy. I think they wear more than ny entire body, and I long for them to shut tight for a few hours. But I must write something, anything. What interests me today? Nothing. Who's pissed me off lately? No one. I force the words out of me, and they land with a heavy thud on the page. The sound keeps me awake, which I wholly resent. A few hours of oblivion I crave, without pain or thought, or the prescence of those who pass my way. Safe within myself I could forget; there is so much I don't want to remember. I first became aware sometime this year, limping down the street towards a a park. A creek ran through it, the water low and slow moving. I have not seen it again since that day. The songs I sang as I walked along that path were new to me, seemingly packed within my brain, along with memories of a life I had never really known. The only thing real to me was an imagined future I doubt I would ever have. There were signs that I had lived before, and someone clled my phone and knew me by a name I mysteriously acknowledge. Even that brief memory is too much for me to handle, so I lay in a thicket of trees and sleep somehow comes. When I awaken, the disorientation is gone and it all seems so clear, and I regret the loss of ignorance. Only the music is real to me. I only live 3 to 5 minutes at a time, and when silence descends, it swallows me whole, sucking me into some timeless void where somehow I still walk through the bleak cityscape, saying hello to those who pass to prove that I am am not alone in this world. Whenever I fail to get a response, I am left to wonder.