unpost secrets,

there are stickers I meant to send,
little caricatures of the third kind,
monsters are smiling deliriously back.
stickers should be happy, leaving a long impression;
not unsend.

there are melodies, loud trumpet solos,
percussion of heartbeats, leading us to spend starry nights in empty ballrooms.
or do you prefer guiter rifts that linger and fade very much later,
gently rocking us out of our stubborn slumber, exalting us to a new high,
a lift into the starry sky.

there are letters unwritten.
words in tones of uncertainties,
waiting to be brought into existence.
they should not be written.
we don't have the right words to say.

so close to falling apart,
so let my No. 1 take over for now.
The other me is taking a leave, to reflect and face the void.
a particular song comes to mind,
"The only moment we are alone" by Explosions in the Sky.
lately I have been mindful of:
to be less of him who speak riddles.
residing, henceforth as a virtual voice.
to impress on us unconscious images.
perhaps, it is true. loneliness is a hypostasis of the outward man.
that which is on the exterior always have an inner reality, unbeknownst to us all, including the inner man.
that which the three hypostases could teach one another, the consciousness of the totality.