I feel shattered in multiple ways, yet I try to persevere every day. I've grown bitter and isolated, fatigued by humanity, yet bound to it. So, I seek solace in solitary activities like dancing, playing, and immersing myself in nature, hoping the healing waves will wash over me. I am harsh on myself but hope that one day everything will fall into place harmoniously. I push myself harder to bring about change and find peace, no matter where I am. However, I don't seek sympathy, as I'm tired of the constant coming and going of people. Instead, I'd rather chase butterflies, crawl with lizards, climb with monkeys, and fly like birds—free of the need to impress or create for anyone.

God forgive me, I've wished not to exist too many times, but I won't take my own life because I believe it's cowardly. So, I'll face the ebb and flow of pain and peace, love and fear, and everything else life throws at me. I'm not running away, but I'll find my own quiet spot on a mountaintop to feel every day until I have no more days.

I've called myself insane, but I'm told that I'm loved through all the misery and shame. Break me a thousand times, God, if you need to, so that I may either be rebuilt into a glorious light or fade away like dust. Life is both a gift and a curse, as everything is temporary, and many of us are lost. We've collectively created this world of masks and shadows, false hope and deathly hallows, but there's more to it all.

I've glimpsed it in a dream, but it was just a passing scene. Now, these words I've typed will fade into history as a mystery, but they mean everything to me and nothing to you. At the end of it all, I don't know what I'm saying, as I'm using a language taught to me by other beings lost in this world of mystery. As a child, I couldn't speak, yet I felt everything. I long to return to where words don't exist, and the wind whispers calmness. I'll let go of the mental prison built over the years, allowing my imagination to soar, and always remember that I'm free to fly.