There is a thief in my living room, and he is entertaining me. Pouring out his theoretic heart, baring his nonexistent soul, yet never passing up a joke or an exciting comment – he’s been there for me through it all. Despite loss or pain, his words always cover my woes and captivates my attention. Every day he kills me and I smile. I never have to wonder if he will speak with me, because his pleasantries are unending. He does not hear me; still he knows my feelings and desires and tells me that I am not alone in this world. So I blindly give up my life, my friendships, and my talents for him, because it is much easier to hear life spoken of than to actually live.
Originally published 10/05/2002
