we are all so alone in this. paper boats floating on oceans black from the night sky. waiting for our time to melt back in to oblivion. the stars silent witnesses. i look up and the moon stares solemnly back. i cannot believe that people have travelled all that way, have stepped foot in the heavens. and suddenly i am crushed by the weight of the fact that i will never do such a thing. i will never travel to the moon. there are so many dreams that will never be anything but dreams. unachievable. and suddenly i am back in a bubble. except it is not even the bubble of being an astronaut, orbiting in his suit, a silent observer from the sky. no - i cannot even escape to that pathetic space - reality has crushed that too. i hear american accents talking. they talk of light things. i imagine kisses and caresses, the breeze of laughter defying gravity. as the sun sets, a myriad of lights appear on the horizon. the flickers reminders to the shore that all those boats, all those fishermen, exist. i wonder where my boat sails, which horizon it is anchored to. which horizon it should be anchored to. beneath the weight of the moon, the flickers of boats and the americans, i am fragile. the mosquito that bites feels like the last painful straw to break this escape in to words, this pathetic attempt to make sense of - now heartburn appears and i am plunging. perhaps oblivion is where i need to anchor.
