I was clearing through storage today, and you invaded the sanctuary of my mind. Not with physical presence, nor with reaching out to forge peace. But with your stain on a page.
A letter. You told me how you’ve known me for 24 years, yet never knew my face until we met. You called me a divine spirit. Someone who gave unconditional love and a soul you’ve known no matter the circumstances.
You aren’t the first person who met me in their dreams before I made myself present. Nor the last. I’ve known people, places, hobbies, dreams, and secrets long before I’ve physically known the person behind them.
I’m aware of the pattern, and my effect. I feel like Lain, but through dreams instead of wires. I’m embracing the wired though, since for a minute I lost myself.
Why did you do it then? If I was divine, why did you rip at my wiring? Search inside of me for a kill command? You wrote such sensitive poetry about me, and yet you refuse to acknowledge the still static screaming my name in your room. I never claimed to be perfect, but you suffocated me with the obsession of optimized romantic connection. It infected me.
I know you hear my echoes. In the corner of your eye you can see my shoes, smell my presence, feel my coldness. My voice harmonizing with the hum of your fan and whine of the coils. You may close your eyes and pretend I am dead, but I know you still hear me. Just like long before.
When will you stop denying your eyes and ears? When will you face the data and recognize the error? I don’t want anything romantic. Just my old friend back.
Am I even divine? At the end of it all you redacted and deleted every statement circulating that notion. Rejecting vulnerability, wanting to make me hurt. I hurt myself enough to not be fully fazed by it, but I wonder. How much of it did you write intentionally, and how much was thrown together in hopes the program would run?
Am I the cause of this destruction because I could no longer be overclocked? Or was this all scrapped together to fail because you aren’t confident in your language? Wish I could open it up and diagnose it.
In the end, I know you see me. Listen to my words, analyze my body language. Continue to remember me in your dreams just as before. I’m everywhere, no matter the circumstances.
Just like you said.
Devotion Without Doctrine 