how long have i been here. this wasteland. stranded in the desert. jungle plane crash. it doesn't even matter. yesterday i drank too much and desperately tried to convince myself i was a secret agent. why did they give me this job. it seemed this girl was on a permanent vacation, but no she's not, she's a secret agent. i think the idea was, that if i just go crazy now, i won't have to contend with all the ebbs and flows of grief. the senses of certainty that so quickly evaporate into infant like tendencies. when i'm standing on the pier, staring out at the sea, and i am myself finally, only to be stabbed in the throat by the presence of no one. that inkling of loneliness stirs inside me like a time bomb. and tells me, "you have no one." i try and say, "okay." to be fine with this news. take it like a real man. but it always seems to kick my feet out from under me. i topple into the briny deep. lying at the bottom of the sea, i drown slowly, all the while waiting for the creatures to come devour me, but they never do. i look around, there on the ocean floor, with a great fear in my heart, the anticipation killing me. where are the teeth, the blood, the cracking of bones. nothing. so i simply sit there waiting. for anything to happen.