It didn’t hurt so much once the hope was gone. Free, I think, a type of freedom. I still find myself going through the motions now and again, but never seriously. You can’t help it. You go up and start talking—then you remember that they don’t have a face. There’s nothing there, really, no person. Just bodies drifting in and out of your life, playing out the patterns, going through the motions. I’m so tired. I just want to find someone, someday, who’s there. So I keep talking knowing no voice will ever respond but my own, fading echoes.
Facing the Faceless
Tale Told 