Hallucinations

I'm reading paragraph after paragraph of words I could have written. I listen, trying to get better at listening, (really just learning more about myself, listening to you) to you tell me you've broken each others hearts 'for a hundred lifetimes,' I know exactly what you mean. I've seen you somewhere before, like I'd known him somewhere before. Sliced from the same stardust and reincarnated a thousand times until we hardly recognized each other. Like you and I; like when I tried to explain to him about home and he closed his eyes.

And no I don't think your dreams of light and cupcakes and joy are silly, because I have the same dreams. I see them everyday. And you said what I meant when you talked about that need to settle down in one god damn place without settling with your soul because settling for anything less than this magic I've become so accustomed to seems so close to death. I'm not sure which one I'd rather. Death by imagination or death by body.

I had this hallucination when we were smoking cigarettes that night. At the table in that apartment where I hear the cries at night so clearly. I wasn't sure if there were two of us, or if I was a schizophrenic mess and for the first time I thought I might be insane. Now I know why I'm here. With the rest of the people who talk to themselves. In this alternate reality slipping along the crease of this dimension.