then doesn't exist like now, it bleeds like graffiti through white paint. these erasures exist now and the messages of denial bleed through the silent tense. i'm going to look at cage again as suggested. i never thought about his name the way charlie is caged, in a wooden crate with a blanket cover like a bird at night. in between we go to sleep but our sleep is a waiting until we wake up. i been listless drifting, trying to keep my face forward but which way is that? with the wind or into it? charlie's right, though she doesn't say it in words, we don't have to understand, like when we were kids, it's still the same way no matter how old and painful we may get, we just have to say present and live.