today, i sat on my floor listening to radio shows.

i listened to a man with a voice like home, like the warmest blanket in the coldest room told stories, created pictures with his tone and his imagination.

there were stories of beauty, of loss, of terror, of all the twisted ways that people can be.

there was one story that mirrored my loneliness so completely that i curled into a ball and cried. at one point, i thought i had stopped breathing, as if i had fallen into the sea.

i've wrapped myself up in words and paint until i don't know how to talk to people anymore. i am closed in around myself. i am empty and lifeless inside. i am terrified of everything. i have lost my voice.

i have lost my fingerprints.

most times, i feel as if i don't exist. sometimes, i fear that it is true.

"...then one evening, from his window, he saw her holding her face in her hands, sobbing, and he was beside himself, trying to think of something, anything, he could do to help her.

then finally he went to his phone and he ordered a dozen roses and had them delivered to her anonymously.

and he watched her receive them at her door, and read the card on which had been written,

'you are not alone, from someone who cares.'

but because her back was turned to him he couldn't see her expression.

and she watched her place the roses in a vase, and place them on the living room table."