i am writing this letter to you, although i don't know what to say. i don't remember who you really are, let alone myself. i don't know what colour your eyes have become, or how soft your hands could have remained, if they had grown larger through the years.

i don't think that i ever will know what to say you. I've already had to delete most of my rambling from this page. Funny how I feel so much more comfortable on this site than any other. for example, when you look at the past lodgings of my words (still always to you) they have the slight air of someone who knows what is going on. yet today i realized that i have no idea what is going on. Looking back on my last five or six entries here, i realize now that i have slowly begun to lose myself, or my way of speaking atleast. such a broad term i use to describe the knowing of everyday, so easily used too; 'going on'.. but i have no knowledge about my surroundings and i have begun to lose sight of my own memories. they used to be the pieces of me that i was unable to disgard, for fear of losing something, someone, incase it was me actually shedding my skin instead of a reel of film from my head. now there is this whistling in my head, something keeping me from being content, or sitting still for that matter. i find myself wandering, my ears picking up only white noise. the sky above me flickers like a television set. (no one would understand that analogy because i feel it only really works with tube t.v's). there are those around me that remain argumentative and over excited, writhing away their days in fits of happiness or rage. i feel that i can fall into the category, but not as of late. especially not right now. i feel like if i start smoking more pot, or staying in my room more that i will regain those lost parts of me: the ones that create the humilation and the former creativity that used to call my fingers home. but instead, i'm almost afraid to watch the kinds of movies that I used to. the films i like remind me now of my failing future, my lost dreams, and what i refuse to be. I am waiting for the day that books will also become apart of that fear. I have also grown habitual in washing my hands constantly, and a problem with being touched by others. I think I wrote once that I used to love to embrace stangers and society, that every one should hug, because we are all becoming so estranged. Sadly enough, i have lost that youthful freedom and I am now drowning in the poor perspective of myself as well as fear of society in general. Families, strangers, foreginers, teenagers, children, the elderly, man, woman, god... everything seems to becoming a problem to me. I seem to just want to speak to the animals, although i still have a torturing fear of birds... those gross winged things. what else am i supposed to be telling you? I think I am unhappy because I have the sheer ability to go unnoticed.

Thomas Chibri.