This isn't about you anymore.

          I'm starting to see a pattern. It's kind of like, staring at the tiled wall in the shower. You want to slip and fall, maybe break your head, but you can't seem to stop looking at the wall. The art.

             The faces and the places on the wall, they talk and breathe, and the more you see, the more you know. And the more you see, the more you want to know, but it all seems to stretch out into nothingness. Everything blurs together, and the more you know, you find you actually know nothing at all.

          That's where I'm coming from, I've always known where I was coming from, but I have never known where I was going. This isn't about you anymore. I've come to realize that my life is a lot like that wall. Winding and endless, like if Satan was a snake and he made a home around my neck. Coiled tight enough to make me see stars in your eyes, but loose enough to make my head pound with pain.

              So it's all about me, and I'm endless. I'm sad and I'm tired, and I have no answers, and I'm all alone. I know that I'll have to keep going, but I also know that I think I'm going to leave you behind. This isn't about you anymore. I'll take my heart back and leave it for someone more special - maybe my dog or my best friend, Carolina.

      I think they'll take better care of it, and I can focus on what really matters: living a life that doesn't involve drowning. Drowning in thoughts, drowning in tears, drowning in possibilities. I think I've had enough of that.

I think I can swim.