The Medium of Air

Eventually, when you write enough, paper becomes obsolete and we return to air, like I do now. Not too many people understand why I write in this medium, but for the people who do, I come as a flash of memory and reference; they'll say: "Oh, yes. I know a girl who writes on the air." "Why?" the others will ask, because ink doesn't show up on the air. "Because it's the only thing that's permanent. Ink is her life, the air she breathes, so she melds the two together to complete her world."

But because of the air and because of her ink, she can never become a part of anything else--at least in the individual sense. Sure, a part of the collective, and she follows her blood back like Jung. But never by herself.

I'll continue to write on the air, like I'll continue to dream of friends. Like I continue to dream of one. I think that maybe through the words on the air they can hear me, like they hear the words in the dreams.