I feel detached. Faceless in the crowd. A balloon, floating on a dull breeze, watching the world as it continues it's lively routine below. A mirage in a mirror, ever looking out but never seen. Or maybe more like a pebble, powerless and insignificant against the death and decay around me. No one really lives...it's all just one more step, one more fall, one more slow dance toward the ultimate end...born dying. The phantom passing as me smiles and laughs, appears happy. I want that for myself, a real slice of joy. If I can reach out and wrap myself around her, can I share in her euphoria for a moment, or is it as imaginary as each fading day feels? Sometimes, I feel it all...like a tidal wave of sorrow or bliss crashing over me, slamming me into the ground, every cell abuzz with the charged energies. But then, the waters recede and I'm left hollow and echoing words of feelings that have long since fled this plundered soul. I miss the tethers that kept me grounded. Emotional attachment that stood guard against total detachment during these bouts of melancholic abandon. The little rituals that reminded me that I garnered strong feelings of connection with someone. Glowing lamp light that illuminated the footfalls of my lost and weary spirit, beaconing my return from the cold separation. If tears could fall for the loss, I'm sure that they would be bitter and warm. My dry eyes write volumes on the waves of the ocean under the light of the Moon, bearing witness to all.