collecting moments

i live amongst psychics, he said.  he looked around the room, looking for someone to acknowledge the truth in that statement.  i immediately looked down at the ground, hoping he didn't notice that i did. for i did feel that sometimes the energy in the room was so strong, that yes, i could read his mind, and him, mine.  see, its normal for me to feel out the room, to look you in the eye, and see if you are lying or truth-telling or just stoned.  but him, i could tell that he wanted to see if anyone else could read minds, or thoughts, or feelings.

i live in my dreams, i thought.  and sometimes we dream the same dreams. at least some of us do.  we wake up in the middle of the night, explaining the worlds of subconsciousness, only for sometimes it being the same dream, as if our minds were connected in our sleeping state.

i looked up from my thoughts, and nodded yes.

we then continued to think our own thoughts in our own heads, with our guards up and heavy.  because probably we were afraid to let others in.  as if they would steal our thoughts and use them against us.  or maybe thats me projecting upon what i might do to others....


(poetry by justin nakasone, situation: make-believe realism)

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