Paper paper obsolete,
how will you reach out to me?
I thought you’d ask me not to leave.”

With each breath we change, we move, we disrupt the day before. Tucked in all of that – somewhere – is the truth. Perhaps we find it in the wet streets that slick and shine just after a hard rain. Or, maybe in the lyrics of a song, the way someone else’s heart can mimic our own. Or, is it in the quiet moments, when there are no other voices, no other sounds. In the silence we find blank sheets of paper, reams of it, enough to build a paper castle to hide away in. But, what is it that we write on them? Do we leave them blank, abandoning want and wish and chance?

I had a random conversation with a near stranger recently. One of those people who exist in your peripheral, but who you never really connect with. He told me a story about crabs, and how they are caught, that they are put into an open lidded container, over-flowing to the point that they almost spill over – and yet, not a single crab ever escapes over the edge. He said the reason is that each and every crab pinches on to each other, keeping each other connected, yet keeping one another stuck in the bin. I left the conversation confused, and a bit shook up. Do I want to be a crab, or do I want to topple over the side?

Lonely, Lonely :: Feist

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