You Asked Me How It Was Being Back
You asked me how it was being back and I said fine, which was not quite the truth, but I said it because saying anything more would mean the possibility of your eyes glazing over, and then I'd lose you too.
I couldn't risk that.
I already feel so strange being back here; so much like a fish out of water.
Whatever else I tell you from this moment on you have to promise me you won't think I'm crazy—or at least promise me you won't tell me.
Just walk away slowly, appearing to be unalarmed. You can call the men with the straight jackets to come get me later.
I will say things that you likely will not--or cannot--understand. But I want you to try.
Just trying means the world to me.