And so the peak of night sets in,
Attempting to cloak me with its silent comfort.
Knowing my dwelling is the most peaceful
And my working spirit, the most productive
Under its silky, brooding wing.

It tries to pull me into its embrace,
Promising to erase all traces of the day,
This which is but one of many
That of late,
Are false in promise
And rich in disappointment.

But tonight, Lady Night,
I shrug you off.
I cannot, this time, be comforted
By your velvet touch.
Do not shy away, though,
For I suspect I will call upon you yet.

Lady Night, stay and talk.
You, of all around me,
Will listen to my wandering mind,
Take in my words like
Sweet water to a tree,
Something I cannot find
In humankind.
Stay?....


Life has not smiled upon me
In a while.
I know not
What wrong I did it,
Nor how I may make
My amends,
But until I resolve
This bitter fight,
I endure its
Unexplained revenge.

Despite all this,
However,
I throw myself on
The frontlines
For everyone else.
I still have the time,
Still make the efforts,
To ensure that the people
In my life
Have the kind of friend
That has eluded me
For years.

And where has it gotten me.

Not a question,
But a statement.

Because I know where
It's gotten me.

Nowhere.

Though I've encountered
Characters of all kinds
Throughout my life,
I have never before
Been surrounded by
So many people
So wrapped up in themselves
That when the walls come
Crashing down,
And the roof starts
Falling in,
I could wrack my
Weary mind for hours
And not recall  
A single soul
Who would be interested
Or even have the time
To lend an ear to my tales.

I find this to be
The Capital
Of all double standards
And I find it odd
How this has continued
For so long,
But so has my giving in.

Odd that, as they take
What they want
And walk away
Without a second glance
Or a mere fraction
Of a returned favor -
Which, in all honesty,
Could be nothing more
Than a listening ear
And a gentle embrace,
And an unimaginable weight
Would be lifted from
My mind,
My spirit,
My heart -
I continue to let them,
The images of turned backs
Forever burned into my mind.

I continue to give
What I still yet do not have.
And I am not a thief,
So I shall not give
What is not mine.


So what is the result?

Oh, Lady Night.
If only you had eyes
That could see me.
If only the stars
You held in a gentle balance,
Like diamonds in the weave
Of a spider's trap,
Were a way for me to
Show you
Where I am.

I feel a tiredness
I cannot explain,
A weariness
That will not leave
No matter how I try
To gather rest,
Though as of late,
Sleep is
An unfriendly stranger,
Refusing to even
Make eye contact with me,
Let alone greet me,
Or stay for bit.

I feel an anger,
A disappointment,
A betrayal,
And perhaps the smallest
Sense of...
Worthlessness.

Why should I feel
Any different?

The whole has made it clear
Just how valuable
My efforts,
My actions,
My friendship,
Is to them.

And if, for that,
I could provide a
Measurement,
I would have very little
To show you
Through your starry eyes,
Lady Night.
Very, very little.

And I cannot help but wonder
Why I continue to try,
Continue to utilize
My precious energy
In an ultimately,
Infinitely futile
Attempt
To make them see,
To make them care.

It's all just as well,
I suppose.
I have always had
A rather unfortunate
Habit
Of hoping for the change
In those
Who will do everything but.


But now,
Now, in this moment,
In the dark of this night,
Let the stars,
The silence,
And the infinite
Reaches of space
Be my witnesses:

There will be no more.

At least, not now.

I will, for now,
Gather my wits
About me,
And strengthen my resolve,
Encase myself,
So that I may
Fall off the radar.

The tiny green dot
That I have become -
Or that I perhaps always was -
Will disappear,
And travel off
The beaten path
For a little while.


I only need to reevaluate,
Need to rethink,
Need to heal,
And deal with these emotions
That plague me.

They are, of course,
My burden to bear
Because as you can tell,
Any hope I had for solace
In another being,
Any hope of finding refuge
In another's ear, mind, heart, arms,
Were swiftly extinguished
Like a gust of wind
To a tea candle.

I shall no longer
Waste my time,
Shall no longer
Linger where I am not
Wanted or needed
Unless there is something
I can give,
And where I am not
Appreciated,
No matter what it is
I have given.

Self-reliance.
Constant diligence.
Lady Night.

You will be companions now.

I ask that others
Do not call upon me
When you seek
A service
Or favor
That you could not
Find
In anyone else.

I will not answer.
I will not come.

If, however,
You feel so miraculously
Inclined
To call upon me
With genuine concern
Or interest in my person,
And in who I have been
To you...

If by some hardly imaginable
Chance
You remember
And acknowledge
When I was there,
And what I did,
And what I said,
To ease your souls
While I battled the pain
Within my own...
It would be
A comforting thing
To know.

At that point,
I may return.
But not now.


Lady Night,

Your cloak, please.

Excuses, excuses - they'll come in a flood,
When you realize your actions have pushed me away.
Imagine! That I once considered you blood!
But I've had quite enough of the games that you play.

The switch came in stages, a gradual thing,
I first didn't notice; it wasn't too clear.
My perspective grew sharper with distance between,
Felt your backhanded words as they pin-pricked my ears.

You thought I wouldn't notice, would let it slip by,
Never gave me much credit, and that was your fault.
Wrapped your insults in jokes, like arsenic on rye,
And you thought all this time that you wouldn't be caught.

I don't know where you get it - this self-righteous act,
It's not as endearing as you think it to be.
You might take what you want, and then leave it at that,
But I'm telling you now: you'll get no more from me.

I don't know what has prompted you picking this fight.
They're pathetic, yet hurtful, these things that you say.
And I don't know where you think you've gotten the right
To take it out on me when you don't get your way.

For years, it's been happening - don't know how I missed
All the ways you controlled me; I answered to you.
Always did what you wanted, I'm realizing this;
The extent of the selfishness you put me through.

But it changed not too long ago, didn't it, dear?
Oh yes, I grew a spine, and things started to change.
And, oh, you didn't like what you started to hear.
My defying your wants nearly made you deranged.

People grow and they change; it's especially true
For me ever since I was finally free.
So how sad to discover it's not true for you,
You're the same as you were, and as you'll always be.

That's the person you are, who you've been since we met
And it never caused issues until days of late.
The things that you've said are things you will regret,
Because I have no room for your envy-fueled hate.

You've become quite the mean one - I'm sorry, it's true.
You're no longer the person to whom I could turn.
It's a shame (it's a **** shame), but yes, we are through.
And it will not be me who is nursing the burn.

Maybe one day you'll change, and we might reunite.
I'm not getting my hopes up - there's danger in that.
Until then, I hope you learn to treat people right,
Because no one desires to stand by a brat.

Maybe I am the first to address how you are,
But I won't be the last, and this, I can assure.
Your poignant self-righteousness won't get you far,
And I'm sorry - for your case, there isn't a cure.

So remember me now; you'll remember me then,
When you lose all those who used to stand at your side.
You'll remember the disrespect you showed your friend,
For alas, she won't be there, holding you as you cry.

Have you noticed,
As it so often is,
That those who
Deceive the most easily,
Are the most beautiful?

Either in appearance,
Or personality,
They radiate innocence
And friendship,
Love and loyalty,
Harmony and humility,
When they have,
In fact,
A file keeper
Of the most organized kind
In that sick mind
Of theirs,
Waiting to take
Your actions,
Your words,
Your very thoughts,
And twist them,
In any and every
Way they can.

It is quite like
Melting down a
Piece of metal,
Completely disregarding
Its original, intended use,
And setting fire to it
So as to take its essence
And make it
Something else entirely,
Which suits your purpose.

Go ahead.
Mold it into
What you wish.
Throw it about
Like putty,
Twist it like an
Iron hanger
So it becomes
Something new,
Something evil,
Something hateful.

Or!
Better yet!
Use it to make
That weapon
Which I anticipate
You'll shove in
My back
When I least expect it,
Least need it,
Can least tolerate it.

I know your kind,
And you will
Bide your precious time -
Because you have all
The seconds,
Minutes,
Hours in the world,
Don't you? -
And when
The time is right
For you,
You will strike
Without mercy,
Without pity,
Without remorse,
Like a cobra lashing out
To deliver its poison
Into a tiny mouse
Just passing by,
None the wiser
Of its approaching fate.

Oh, don't hold back now!
Stick your spiraled knife
In my back again,
Which twists all on its own!

Pull it out,
Stab me again!

Slap me
Across the face
Any way you like.

Speak your pretty little lies
Behind my back
Once more,
And convince yourself
That I won't hear of it.
That I won't get wind,
Get scent,
Get wise
Of the toxic creature
You are.

Oh, please,
Don't stop now!
It's hardly the time
To back down
When you have made
So many efforts,
Used so much energy,
Gone to so much trouble
To tear me down,
And make me nothing.

Or is it trouble for you,
Really?
Does it take any time
Out of your schedule?
Or is this,
As I suspect,
Just another day
In the life?

I would believe
It is safe to say
This is normality
For you.

My curiosity
Only peaks
When I wonder
How many others
Trusted you,
Believed your
Pretty words,
Woven with delicate
And malicious intent.
Who trusted your
"Kind" actions,
And your tendency
To "care,"
And who suffered
A similar fate
As I.

You play your game
With skill
And practice,
With a deft hand
Which has likely
Seen
Far more profuse
Amounts of blood
Spilled
Than my own.

I am sure
You have seen
Far greater
Men and women
Fall from grace
As a result of
Your words,
Your actions,
Your cunning planning
And appalling lack
Of the most basic
Compassion
For your fellow man.

But you will see,
As all
Who are like you do,
That you shall fall,
As well.

Like the walls of Jericho,
You and the existence
You lead -
Built on lies,
Deception,
And a crazed
Desire to see
The misery of others -
Will tumble.

Brick by brick,
Or perhaps all at once,
All shall see
The demise of one
Who caused the very same
For so many others,
And,
In the same respect
You showed me,
And showed them,
We shall have no pity,
No concern for you.
No great leaps
Will be taken
To keep you from
Hitting the ground
When you fall
From your most mighty
Throne
Built on riches
That you gained
From causing
Others' emotional
And social poverty.

It shall be
The end of an era!

The people,
Almost as if
In revolution,
Shall cry out
Their oath
That it shall
Never happen again!

Never again will
We suffer
At the hands of
A tyrant
Of the worst kind!

And yet...
And yet...

It will, indeed,
Happen again.

Others like you
Will come along,
Will weave
A sticky web
Of all things
Treacherous
And will catch
So many
Unsuspecting
Creatures
With the lure
Of "diamonds"
In the gnarled
And tangled
Threads.

But I,
For one,
Have learned
My lesson,
And in my travels
Shall avoid
You,
And all others
Like you,
At every cost.

What happens
To you
Is not for me to decide,
But rather,
Something greater
Than myself.

I only advise you
Not to call out to me
For help,
Or expect an outstretched
Hand
To pull you from
The mess
You found yourself in.

If you find a hand at all,
O Cunning One,
Beware!

It may have a knife in it.

I sit here in the dead of night,
In these four walls, I haunt myself.
There's hours yet 'til I'll see light,
And I am feeling...not so well.

The day was cold, with warm embrace
And I was feeling so alive.
The touch of sunlight on my face,
And joy, unbidden, in my stride.

But reality, the heartless *****,
Has ways of jerking on the heart.
Her nimble fingers squeeze and clench -
So fragile things will fall apart.

And so it was that I returned
To what I know I can't escape.
Something I could not help but learn,
And once I had, it would remain.

That I am independent, see,
And spirited beyond control.
I know there's things I cannot be,
For I have no submissive soul.

It would, perhaps, do me some good
To better watch the things I say.
I speak things that I never should,
And I regret them, day by day.

Yes, I have tried to change myself,
To coax out in me what is meek,
But every time, I'm lost in hell,
For such exertion makes me weak.

I struggle every day with this,
For who I am, shall always be.
Sometimes I cannot help but wish
Spirit was not so strong in me.

Perhaps it is not understood,
That I'm not mean in any way.
"My heart," I cry out, "it is good!"
And still people will turn away.

Yes, I confess, I do compare
Myself to those I could be like.
Demure and quiet, gentle flair -
I feel that I am not quite right.

I've been the same way all my life,
Opinionated, loud, and strong.
It's only been in recent nights
That I have felt...there's something wrong.

Why can't I reign it in, I think?
Is it so hard to settle down?
My heart constricts, my stomach sinks
At just that thought which I have found.

I know that I would not survive
If I would change in any way.
My boisterous spirit gives me life,
It's how I handle every day.

So why, then, must it be so hard
To get through life the way I am?
I'm only playing with the cards
Dealt from an unforgiving hand.

But it is every day I feel
That we do not walk side-by-side.
It's almost like I am not real,
But rather, wind, just floating by.


The sun is setting on the year,
And now, reflecting, I confess
That for the future, I've no fear
(Though I know it will hurt no less).

I'll wake tomorrow, one more day
On which the curtains will be drawn
And as the daylight fades away,
I'll hope that so, too, will my flaws.

I pray the new year brings me peace,
And ends the struggle I endure.
Not every challenge yet will cease,
But life gets better, I am sure.

I sit in a prison of my own making,
Neither a friendly place,
Nor one of misery.
It is not black and white,
But rather every shade
Of gray.

It is cold.
And it is dark.

I pull my threadbare blanket -
Worn with use and
Useless attempts to maintain
What once brought me joy
But now threatens to leave
At the blink of my heavy lids -
Around my trembling shoulders,
Wishing for
The warmth,
The heat,
The love,
That once surrounded me.

I gaze with empty eyes,
That are far too tired
To produce the relief
That tears might bring,
At what was once a fire,
Tall,
Leaping,
Sparks flying,
And always,
Always beautiful.

Once containing every color
That heat could create -
The red of my blood
Which ran for you,
The orange of the sunsets
We once witnessed together,
The yellow of the sun
Who cast his rays upon us
As we drove around the city
With no particular destination
In mind,
But rather with the intent
To lose ourselves
In life and youth,
And in each other.
And at its brightest,
The blue of my eyes
Which you still admire,
Have always adored.
The violet of most of the shirts
You wear,
Shirts which I, too,
Wore at some point or another.
And white,
The color of the roses
Which only the other day
I told you were my favorite,
Besides the red.

A rainbow of heat,
Of memories,
Of what once fueled
An effortless union
Of two willing hearts,
Which I now fear are quite separate...

Pulling my blanket ever tighter,
Pointlessly,
I gaze wistfully at what is now,
At best,
A barely smoldering
Pile of delicate embers,
Soft, silky ashes,
Harboring tiny
Pockets of heat
Here and there,
Which stir ever so gently
If you blow on them
In just the right way,
But no longer produce
Enough heat
To calm the chill
That grows in me.

My hands -
Missing your fingers
Intertwined with mine,
As they once were -
Itch with the desire to
Stoke what remains
Of the blaze
That's passed.

But what would come of it?
I fear it.

I can no longer predict what
My words,
My actions,
My confessions,
My honesty,
Will stir in you.

You have become
All but a steady,
Indefinite time bomb,
A fuse lit with perhaps
The same fire
Which once united us,
Which does not
Burn at a steady pace
But only moves another inch
Every time
I make a mistake.

I fear setting you off,
Which I do so easily now,
Without intent,
And so unexpectedly,
But a greater fear
That rests in me
Is losing what we have,
This tiny flame
That still exists,
And which I nurture,
Terrified
That it will burn out forever.

This place I'm in...
I do not like it here.

It is cold.
And it is dark.

I have no way to leave,
It seems,
For this fire
I refuse to abandon
Also provided light,
Gave me some direction
Like an oil lamp,
Guiding me along
A twisted, narrow staircase,
Seemingly going up,
But treacherous
In its crumbling structure,
Uneven steps,
And startling trip-ups.

It gave me a way to see,
To feel out
Where I was going,
On an already-difficult path
Which I felt I could not
Navigate alone.

I was so grateful for
That flame,
A source of comfort
In a dark place.

But even then,
It is finite.
That of nature
And man
Always is,
Isn't it?

Somewhere along the line,
The smoke grew thinner,
The flame grew smaller,
The ashes grew denser,
And the temperature
Grew colder.

I was an unprepared traveler,
Only carrying the bare minimum,
This blanket which now rests uselessly
On my shoulders
And spine,
Curved with defeat.

I did not brace myself
For the gust of icy wind
Which would *****
A delicate but vital
Resource,
And knock me on my back,
Fragile spine and
Brittle ground
Colliding
In a predetermined battle.

I am not quite as seasoned
In these things
As I once thought,
As I still
Would like to think I am.

I should not have
Overestimated myself,
Just as I should not have
Underestimated you,
And my own
Irreparable foolishness
And silly
Romantic tendencies.

And while I sit
And ponder this,
I watch the tiny embers
Flicker,
Luring me in with a
Promise of
Revival,
Repair,
Resolution.
They are so small,
And seem to have
Lost their purpose,
Two feelings
I am quite acquainted with.

I have two choices here,
It seems.
Continue to nurture that
Which once
Brought me purpose,
Brought me healing,
Brought me life,
And hope that it returns -
Just as I hope you do -
To what it once was.

Or, I may abandon
What is smoldering
As your eyes once did
When you looked at me,
This pile of ashes,
A majority of which
Is comprised of
Scarring memories,
Painful stories,
Fear and apprehension,
All of which I tossed
With blind faith
And shocking optimism
Into the fire
We created together,
In hopes that our new start
Would also create
Our happy ending.

I am still unsure
Of what will come.

But for now,
I fasten my blanket,
And my own arms,
Around myself,
And wait out the winter.

We shall see
What spring will bring.

I feel I am the living dead,
A staggering soul wandering
Across brittle, rocky, dark terrain,
Which has still more life than I.

Through lifeless eyes I still can see
That I am but a stranger here -
An undeterred tourist
With no purpose
And no path,
Merely here
To enjoy the scenery.


All those
Who I once knew
Are still the same,
Have never changed,
But it is instead
Me
Who has changed,
And so it might as well
Have been
That they did, too.

For we no longer
Share a home,
No.

Home?

Do I have one?

I used to think so.

But life's incessant patterns
Continuing
With a brutal
And mocking
Repetition,
Drove me out of that land.

I needed change.

A change, yes!
Why, of course!

A shocking concept
So common
So simple
I wondered why
I had only thought of it now.

So it was over
My weary shoulder
I slung my tiny pack
Of simple things -
Hope,
Determination,
And strength,
And from no
Particular direction,
Headed in the very same,
I left.

And lost myself
Along a dirt road,
A beaten path,
Traveled by so many others
Whom no one hears from now.

They are, like me,
The living dead.
The silent travelers
Who still exist
But in a different place
From what we see.

A quiet place
Behind an invisible wall,
Which is to say
They are among us,
And we could,
Should,
See them,
If only we would look.

I am sure
So many think
That I know some of them.
I do not.
Why?
Because we
Are not a people,
Not a group
Which joins together.
Instead, we wander alone,
Looking in from the outside.

It is not our desire
To find others like us,
To exist on our own
Where no one knows we are.


It is not that we have died,
No,
We are very much alive.

But we have moved on.

We are the living dead.

We have let go of
Everything
That made us,
That once composed
Our beings
And our lives.

That pattern that I spoke of -
It is tiring, you know.
You realize that
The same routine,
The same places,
The same ways of life,
Become a rather daunting,
Exhausting task,
As opposed to being
The joy of living.

There are those
Who had no choice,
Who existed as
Limp puppets,
Having their every move
Controlled
By hands they could not see or feel,
But knew quite well were there.

I, too, have been there.

But!

Even dictating
My own rules
Was not enough.
Still the patterns
Followed me,
And with frightening fervor
Attempted to define me.

But in a moment of clarity,
A glimpse of sunlight
Through a crack
In the prison wall,
I summoned a strength
And energy
I knew not
That I possessed.

And so,
Without ever meeting them,
Speaking to them,
Or truly knowing they existed,
I joined them,
The living dead.

What it was
That we lived for,
That we strove for,
That we laughed,
Cried,
And sacrificed for,
Slowly,
Slowly,
Passed on.

With the chains
That had bound us,
All of those things
Passed away.

Dissolved into a sweet
Yet bitter smoke -
A gracious,
Graceful wisp
From a gentle power
I cannot see.

To lose your life
Is not so tragic
As they tell you.
It is but
An unreal relief
That no drug
Can provide,
Only available
To those who
Truly desire it.

To lose your life is,
In fact,
To realize that you
Were never alive
Before that moment.
You only dreamt
The things you did,
Words you said,
Faces you saw,
Hands you held,
Bonds you formed,
Steps you took...
None of it was real.

Some take longer
To leave that
Dreamland,
A place where they feel safe,
Where they believe
That everything,
Including themselves,
Is in place.

Others do not leave at all,
And so they do not exist.
They immerse themselves
In a place
Where we cannot find them,
Where they cannot be rescued.

They remain among
The common living.

But I,
I,
Through clouds
Of silver smoke
And painless fire,
Through blinding
starry nights
And endless days,
Through gentle forests
And lethal gardens,
Found my way.


It does not hurt,
No.

It is but a surreal
And binding release
Of all that you knew,
And all that you were,
Into the depths of space
From which no man,
No machine,
No lifeform
Unknown to us,
May retrieve it
In even the greatest attempts
To bring back
Into the present
What is now cemented
In the past.


I walk among the
Common living
Each day,
Wandering,
Wondering,
Watching.

Their lives
Are not so different from mine.
They only lead them
In a different world.


I feel I am the living dead.
A steady soul limbering
Across a paradisiacal plain.
Which, as you well know,
Could have no more life than I.

Where is it that I am now?
Where do I belong?

I carve away a niche with this rusty, broken blade,
But my hands are tired,
Riddled with cuts.
My fingers are weary,
Distorted with the effort of chipping away
At an indestructible stone.

I measure my progress
That doesn't exist
And I wonder whether
It is my tool of choice
That holds me here
Or rather
The place I am trying to remain in.


But where else can I go?
Where do I belong?

I run in place,
Exerting all effort,
All my strength,
Only to remain where I was,
Where I have been,
Where I....will be?

No.

It cannot be.

I must not stay.

But, if I leave,
Where shall I go?

I am myself, you know.
I look like my father, they say.
I talk like my mother, they say.
I possess my grandmother's sharp tongue,
And his, her, their gentle heart, they say.

I thank you for your contributions.
But you are only parts of me,
Not who I am as a whole,
Who I would,
If asked,
Use to define my existence.

It seemed not too long ago
I found my place.
A place to not only give,
But to receive.

To receive...

But you see,
I once again found myself,
As I always do,
In a place where they discover
Just how much
I am willing to give.

And they like that about me.
Most people do.

But as is human nature,
What is readily given
Becomes what is readily expected

And they, so eager to take,
Forget to give back.

Which is fine, I suppose.
I've made it twenty years living such a life.

But what I am giving...
What I have given...
What I....will give?
Never mind.
It always outweighs
What they are willing to reciprocate.

Humans.

Wonderful, beautiful, selfish creatures.

And so I gave more than I truly had to give.

And slowly, slowly, I felt it being pulled from me.
The very lifesource which sustains me.
Like pulling the plug on a tiny drain,
It slowly seeped away.

Leaving me weak, exhausted, tearful.

Why.
Why did I give so much.
Why did I put myself here.

It is my fault, you know.

I should have learned by now.

But I am human.

Humans.

Wonderful, beautiful, foolish creatures.

And now I find myself a lost cause,
Pondering in the cold, rainy afternoon.
Wandering down roads in my mind that
I should have,
Would have,
If I were wise,
Wandered down before letting myself
End up here.

Empty.
Drained.
Wondering.
Wanting.
Wishing.
Considering.
­
Promising myself that he would
Have none of my tears,
Oh, no,
Not him.
I said this wouldn't happen again.

I left that dark place for a reason,
I left that man for a reason,
And he,
He,
The Man of Promises,
Was supposed to be different.
Was supposed to build me up
But drains me, pulls me, pushes me,
Leaves me hovering somewhere in limbo,
Not between life and death,
No,
I am far too much alive for that.
If I were not,
It would not hurt.
But instead,
A limbo between
The elusive happiness
I have begged for,
Worked for,
Done everything for,
And the heartbreak and disappointment
That I fled from
When I left that dark place.

When I left that Dark Place,
And found the Man of Promises,
I had hope.

And it is now by the delicately woven threads
Of that foolish hope
By which I hang in this terrible limbo.

Like silk from a spider,
They are just delicate enough
To be beautiful
In their silver fragility,
But strong enough
To hold me as a prisoner here,
Waiting,
Wanting what she cannot have.

Where do I belong now?

Where is my safe place?

Perhaps there is none.

But then,
I never asked for a safe place.
I asked for a place of happiness,
Of peace that for so long
Eluded me
And from a barely tangible distance
Mocked me with fervor,
With relish,
Knowing I would continue to pursue it.

Are places of safety and happiness one in the same,
After all?
For I can find neither.

I feel that I shall always believe
That such places exist,
Even if I cannot reach them,
Like places in books I wish I could travel to,
But can only imagine myself in
As I immerse myself in the pages,
Flipping back and forth between
Places I will never see
And people I will never know.

These characters...is their reality better than mine?
Perhaps.
But isn't reality objective?
Reality is not reality, they say.
Perception is reality.

Well.
If that is true,
I must perceive things very differently
From most.

I digress.
I ramble.
But it is through these ramblings
That I find my answers.


Where do I belong?

Here.

On this page,
In these words.
This is where you will find me.

Projecting my reality,
Or perhaps creating one.
Relieving my restless mind,
Or perhaps doing it more harm.
Seeking the place I want to be,
Or perhaps leaving the one I'm meant to be in.

I do not know.

But for now,
Here is where I belong.

Honestly.
Where else could I possibly go?