The missionaries have been following me lately, closing in on the most decent of conversations. I try to hide within the crusty pages of a borrowed book, as I explore deeper in to the pages "they" come in to view, poking fun at my beliefs. I am even finding them in a place I never imagined possible...inside my lover. My imagination eludes me from this surreal madness. I close my eyes and the stalking begins, twisting him, creating him, placing him besides me. An emptiness that will only be filled by my whole self and nevermind what the missionaries believe because I will die alone just the same as everyone else. My mind is open, do not misinterpret my words, although, I don't believe, I won't believe. The only question I have is how to create a whole being for the half self I am. Being half of whatever I claim I am, I have yet to slip. I have stood on this shaking earth as light as my conscience may be and have yet to fall. So I beg of these missionaries to quit surrounding me, closing in on me, because I am a mission failed.