I don’t recognize this place anymore. How could I spend so much time here? Who are these people? What do they want with me? Why were we ever friends? This is a joint illusion. We’re joking ourselves. These parties are a palliative to pass the time painlessly. Close your eyes and surrender to the rip tide. Easier to let go than stand firm.

Look at us all in a row — 1, 2, 3, 4. Stop. Open your eyes. Get back to shore. Where are you going? Stay a while. We’re all here. It will be fun. Remember last time? You wished you were with us. Don’t miss out. After this? Don’t worry — it’ll come. We always manage to have fun.

I can’t say here. I can’t stay with you (all). I am not like you. I can’t maintain this illusion. Your charade does nothing to quell my spirit. I am entertained ceaselessly, carouseling from restaurant to venue to bar to home and round again. The weekly rigamarole. Where does it go? When does it end? Where are we going? Do you care? We don’t have that much time. I can’t take another ride. Maybe I can’t tell you why or where I must go, but I know it’s not here. It can’t be. This is so mealy. This isn’t enough. I wake up empty, surrounded by people but connected to none.

You can’t help me. You can’t save me. You’re the other side of me. I have to stop. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be with you anymore. I have to go. I can’t explain. I’m out. I’ll be good. I will.