i wonder if i was ever there, if anybody saw me when i wore my white sheet. small in presence, too frightened to haunt the places they brought me. my friends knew i needed to pry my body from off of the floor. they left me to sleep there. they pull me away from there. i can't help but missing everything--coins gone from pockets, my lost baby teeth. if you're awake, can i find them tomorrow morning? i wish i could live on his floor, go back to the lavender carpets i once knew, when i was eager to feel anything, even if that meant wrongful attachments. can i come over if you're still awake by the time i'm back in state?