I'm Not Saying There Are Aliens
I know there are all types of people in the world. I know there are types that believe in weird stuff, who don’t believe in weird stuff, who want to believe in weird stuff and can’t and who don’t want to believe in weird stuff but do. I know you’re out there. I have made contact with each of your kind.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?