When I walk the streets at night, I wonder… I wonder that if I were to wrap my arms around a tree, would it bring me closer to the God I so desperately seek, or land me in a padded room? If I were to rid myself of these clothes and venture into the woods, would I find myself seized by revelations, or merely the cold hand of the British weather, and a sense of shame that knows no bounds? The trees that surround me whisper the name of a girl who is a woman yet still a girl. In life, she ages, yet in my mind, she is a flower yet to bud. Sometimes, words give shape to her form, then at others, I can’t figure out if this is reality or just another one of those daydreams that leave me further downstream. I’m unsteady on my feet; I’m drunk on freedom yet gripped by a sense of irrational fear that hinders my every move. The hairs in my nostrils capture scent. My eyes record other eyes; smoky, doe-like. Did the musicians on the Titanic play their instruments riddled with fear as they prepared to plunge into the icy ocean, or did they believe their bodies were merely vessels for something far greater and that once they were gone, God would bring them into his company with open arms? In my heart, I know the answer, but my brain gets in the way of everything. It’s an enemy I can’t do without. A giant spider roaming the horizon I find myself running to with open arms—semi-erect, semi-mental, and shivering like a feather.