otra semillla

they say that we create a universe in our heads and we live in it, there. i do this to such an extent that when i am presented with the actual face, the one i'm conjuring, out of the blue, the bubble that i'm writing in my head pops! and i almost don't believe it. my instinct is always to run, as some many years ago, when i hid between two dumpsters from a boy i am now very good friends with. (??!??!) at the time, i couldn't picture having a conversation given my meta conversation/conversations, and situations...why run? what is better than an actual conversation?! certainly not finding out that there is perhaps no conversation to be had, that perhaps there is nothing beyond the bounce, perhaps you'd see that my hands still shake, or perhaps i'd find that they all end but never begin. that's where i live. then later, when i ask "was that you, on 23rd street, staring at awnings in a buttoned-up grey?" the answer is maybe a no, no i don't think i was there...what was i doing? did you see me? my answer is predictable , always of course, always yes, always yes i always see you, always.