My mouth tastes of Orange Juice and isolation as I sit and ponder on the future that massacres all comfortable pensivity.
My robust diffidence leaves me making conversations with myself to stay in company.
I'm once more surrounded, but still I find myself detached from verisimilitude.
I'm deaf blind and dumb.
I ache for conversation, but I don't know how to reach out,
How to disseminate,
How to communicate,
What to say.
For someone so conversant as I am inescapably speechless.
I need a friend here.
Not someone like Cameron with whom there is latent competition,
Not someone like Michael with whom there's nothing left to say,
And not some girl with whom I'll ache for a confirmation of my desirability.
I want to talk to someone, anyone, I need to know people here want me.
But all I get is an evasion.
Touch me.
All I need is contact.
