he slips those fingers into the corners of my mouth and fix my lips into a smile. blink, blink. is it strange that staring into a mirror floods me with the urge to smash my face repeatedly into it? do you think broken glass could feel like an aggressive kiss? blink, blink. i hear the familiar symphony of sounds as i drift out of a conversation and into the other senses which are hungry for attention. it smells like wet dirt, it smells like gasoline. there are moments when i am with other people, talking and engaging, when i suddenly see myself, outside myself: i am at the end of diving board, and i twist around on my tiptoes and cross my arms over my chest, before falling backward into the unknown waters beneath me. i’m here, but i’m not here, y’know? i’m there, but i’m not really there, y’know?