You Can't Find Me Yet

You can find me always with a book in my dim-lighted aerie
With traces of tears wetting the window sills of my soul

You can find me always in my little nook feeling awry
Staring catatonically at the images on the wall in dole

You can find me always writing something in my diary
Weaving dreams, in reverie, documenting my history

But no, you can’t find me; you can’t find me yet
Not because I’m once again a silhouette
But because I still have to fill the emptiness my heart has kept

- 8:20 p.m., March 6, 2004, Sunday; Surrey, British Columbia
(While listening to “Candleland” by Ian McCulloch
[Candleland (The Second Coming) EP;1990, UK EastWest])