All these years of self-denial, shame, excuses…have caught up. I dreamed this morning, right before opening my eyes again, of driving toward Aiea, my childhood; well, most of it. I found myself in a Buddhist monastery maze of bonsai trees, smoke, and endless file cabinets. They, the perennial whoever they, were chasing me down. I’d stolen something valuable, essential. I am a fugitive.

When I wake up, I am in the same circular logic — in my own mind. But I am unreasonable, shrewish, impossible to live with.

All I’ve ever wanted was freedom in a world where I’ve had to choose between the lesser of two evils, disguised as everything I’ve ever wanted.

But, I never wanted this. I’m easy prey, easily manipulated.

Maybe you have a reason to be here, but I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t pretend around you anymore.

I just need one room, where even the light can’t get in.

Originally published at on November 8, 2020.

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