I told you. I told you I am not typing nor writing anymore. When I am away, everything is visibly there but cannot be felt with the presence of my bare body. When touched, it disappears, breaks into crystals that goes to places where I cannot go. I told you so.
For now I have got a door but I am not able to open it wholeheartedly. There is this barrel in between. I think it's supposed to be the end but I cannot be sure. For later, for tomorrow night, Timmy goes off to Taiwan and I will be left to fend for myself, to fight for whatever it is that I am fighting for, to burn alone, to allow whatever it is that is affecting me to creep up slowly always leaving a tingling sensation behind. I will wince and I will weep but this is just what will happen and nothing else.

Because I know I am merely a few steps more to the side of downhill, I go off to the library, get Patch Adams because he is amazing and we are going to watch it before Tim leaves and lastly, grab myself a hot cup of coffee.