Hey you, out there in the cold
Getting lonely, getting old -
Can you feel me?
Hey you, standing in the aisles
With itchy feet and fading smiles –
Can you feel me?

I remember when I sat on that bus, watching the young mother across the aisle caress the cheek of her little boy. I still felt David and Logan inside of my head. Logan was so strong then, so fresh.

Yes, now when I touch someone, I truly *feel* them. It’s wonderful, and it’s horrible. What if that mother across the way, her thumb on her son’s cheek, could have truly felt the boy – from the inside out? Could have known exactly what he was experiencing, what he dreamed of, what he feared, what he wanted more than anything? Could gain complete empathy with him by one simple touch?

Beautiful to think of, in a way. But I know it’s not beautiful – I’m not beautiful. I’m a freak, even among the freaks. My touch can invade someone’s ultimate privacy, his very *soul* - against his will and with great destruction. And what can it do to my own soul? Is it even mine anymore? The dark memories, hates, and desires that began that night that I touched Logan – sometimes they threaten to overwhelm me.

Hey you - don't help them to bury the light.
Don't give in without a fight.

Logan came to me on the train. Even with all the evil I knew he had seen, even with the rage and hate and confusion I still felt from our contact the night before, he had goodness in him that brought him looking for me. He wanted to help. He did help, more than he could know, simply by putting his arm around me.

Hey you, out there on your own,
sitting naked by the phone –
Would you touch me?
Hey you, with your ear against the wall
Waiting for someone to call out –
Would you touch me?
Hey you - would you help me to carry the stone?
Open your heart. I'm coming home.

Where was I going when I got on that train, anyway? To more of what I’d had for eight months – absolutely nothing. Wandering alone, afraid to meet anyone, afraid to talk to anyone, afraid to help or be helped. No plan, no hope, just running.

Just being held against Logan’s chest, hearing his breathing, hearing his low voice – it convinced me that maybe everything could be just a little bit better than it had been since I left Meridian.

But it was only a fantasy.
The wall was too high, as you can see.
No matter how he tried, he could not break free.
And the worms ate into his brain.

But it’s beenl so hard. Hard to have any hope sometimes. Hard to live here at Xavier’s, to be surrounded by all the teenage fun and yet feel dreadfully old and tired so much of the time. Hard to have Logan’s restlessness inside of me, and his nightmares, and to stay here and work for the cause. Hard to see the news and feel the pressure building in the world.

And Magneto is in my head. What he could not convince me of with his words, he proved to me with his touch. He tried to tell me that the humans would never accept us. That there was only one way to make the humans understand. I knew that he was evil, and I did not listen to his lies. But then he touched me – and when he touched me, I believed him. Now I see that he is right.

No! No he’s not. Damn it, I have to believe there is hope. For peace. For me.

Hey you, out there in the cold,
Always doing what you're told –
Can you help me?

Dear sweet Bobby, he is so concerned about me. I tell him that I’m fine, but he’s not stupid. He knows when the nightmares have been bad, when I’ve been unable to sleep. He knows that sometimes I want to just run again.

He tries to help me – by making me laugh, by bringing me presents, by not letting me brood. He listens to me, too – lets me tell him about the darkness, about Magneto, about Logan (both the good things and the bad). And sometimes he tries to help by touching me – he wants to give me some of his hope.

I don’t want him to touch me, though. When he did, his hope just confused me. His ice and Logan’s fire and Magneto’s hard cynicism – these things can’t coexist in my head. They fight and it makes me crazy.

I don’t want anybody to touch me ever again.

Hey you, out there beyond the wall,
Breaking bottles in the hall -
Can you help me?

I don’t want to be touched. I don’t need to be touched.

I live inside the wall that is my skin, and I look out at the world through the windows that are my eyes. In a way, I feel separated from everything.

Everything except Logan. I will never be separate from him, no matter where he is. His is the only touch that I do not regret. I do not touch him any more, or let him touch me, but I don’t regret those two occasions when our flesh met. I dream about them, actually. Frequently. From both our perspectives. Those memories are both my greatest joy and my most painful nightmares. Because they saved me… because they hurt Logan… because the first touch destroyed my innocence and the second touch filled me with such love.

Love that is everything. Power. Lust. Light. Terror. Freedom. Pain. Hope. Death. Rage. Faith. Forgiveness.

Love that is my anchor when my soul threatens to split in two.

A lot of people would laugh at that. They’d say how can Logan be an anchor - the man’s half crazy, unpredictable, irrational, and can’t stay in one place for more than a few weeks. Well, I can’t explain it, but it’s the way things are.

Hey you - don't tell me there's no hope at all.
Together we stand, divided we fall.