It feels like having run for days and nights long through forests and plains and reaching a dark clearing, muddy and green, swelling of liquefied matter. It feels as though you're standing in the middle of a circle of silent trees, ankle-deep in the uncomfortably warm ground and vegetation, looking around, eyes wide to spot anything but blackness. Bewildered, you mistake bacteria on your eyeballs for animals or people lurking in the distance. You want to yell for help, but there's no way of knowing if somebody will come rushing or something will come to tear you up and feast on your very being. Perhaps there would only be that cloud-clad silence without any repercussions, swallowing up your scream without an echo. Hiding the noise under the thick, low-hanging skirt, so it could be forgotten, and denied. Heart pounding, muscles burning, eyes and mouth dry, there you stand afraid to breathe too loud and afraid not to.

It feels like that, this loneliness.

Not that I think there are monsters lurking in the darkness, waiting for me to turn off the lights. I don't fear the lack of human warmth, not to be touched, or kissed again. It doesn't seem horrifying to imagine the burial grounds at night.

It's only this choking, this invisible, silent choking on words. It's this consensual silentium of the world, where you may listen, but never be heard. Where you raise your voice and are shushed with shouts. Where the subtle tone of your mind is the grandest sin to vocalize. It's offence, it's weakness, it's taboo, and it is mostly undesirable. It's too much, too boring. Too you. So you gag on all the soliloquies and ideas, you think and thus, lose focus. Focus on the great external mouse-trap, of the ever-turning wheel that is built to keep you broken and occupied enough not to ever come up with anything reminding of an original thought.

But, of course, it could be just me being silly. It could just be an egotistic notion to believe that any of that matters. Maybe it's a different language they cannot decode. It very well may be a tongue so foolish-looking and mock-deep that nobody understands it.

The effect is the same either way.

I forgot about the tea water today, but it was still hot enough to make a proper brew.

You should see the cat, she developed a habit of sitting on pizza boxes with the look of utmost patience and even though the whole situation doesn't have anything to do with you, it makes me think of you. An eerie thing.

But the weather is fantastic around here, so I assume your travels should be alright, that is if you manage to self-hydrate your way through this hell of a summertime. I keep saying this, but I genuinely hope that you're going to have a great time over there among the scores of people high on all kinds of externally and internally produced chemicals. And the music, that will be amazing for sure.

Over here it's only Florence screaming her too well-written lyrics and me lounging on pieces of furniture, completely out of focus, about to similarly join a crowd emotionalized by alcohol. I think about sweets to devour, smoke to show around in my insides, problematic friends, and you. It might not be a very sentimental leap from that to choose you as the most pleasant thought to entertain. And this cursor I would show you, should you be here, it pulsates like a minimalist heart.

How do you find the trip so far? Are the pals cracking jokes and passing liquefied extroversion? Are meadows and green-yellow pastures blurred behind dirty windows tinted by sunshine? You may have already arrived there, too. The jolly crowd surely is a sight. It's so easy to picture you, wrapped tightly in a vest top, casting that first, searching, cool look over the heaving heap of humans, wearing the smile of smiles. I'm convinced a couple of people mistook the latter for sunshine but didn't care enough to look into the light.

Here it's one of those Saturday mornings when you apathetically give in to the heat and just don't move for hours just to avoid touching the heated pillow of air that stopped dead in every room. I'm pretty sure the clocks are only dragging their metallic little fingers through time, too, for there is nothing of importance that we could miss today. I have anxiety slowly building up in me, filling my feet first, before flooding my body as a punishment for going among people. I'm smiling, though.

Are you gathering the excitement from the ground under your feet? Are streams of joy and anticipation streaming up your veins to send them flying through to your every cell? Are you warmed by the sun, the closeness, and the freedom? Make sure to take a look-around every once in a while, so you could see how you're part of all that chaotic happiness lighting up the town.

It feels so safe to talk to you this way, the sort of safe I'm abandoning with every written word. But it's time to stir the sleepy air, so I'll gather up my tangled thoughts and limbs and get myself set for the merriment. It'll be hilariously indecent, just the way I like it.

This last puff of smoke I'm breathing onto the sky, this is me trying to send this all to you.