This is what you do to me, I close my eyes so I can't see, You let your love rain down on me

Love Reign Over Me - David Holmes (plays in background of clip)
Keep shut: Your mouth.

Telling you doesn't change anything, though. Maybe talking doesn't get us anywhere. Typing to an invisible ether, to try and cleanse my soul. I convince myself it works, sometimes. Maybe none of this makes sense.

Something that does make sense is reading. Even if it doesn't resolve things, it lets you know there are others who can't resolve it too. The best response to a poem, in terms of emotional redemption, is perhaps the knowing 'Yeeaahh...', accompanied by a slow nod.

Surely that is the point of literature- of reading it, anyway; to find out that you are far from alone in the world. It's populated with people seeing things like you do and, while you may find absolute fucking idiots with no apparent regard for your feelings, there are those who exist who see what you see, and there is an unexplained comfort in that.

Sq.