Sunday, December 26, 2010

A Smoldering Heart

If I wished hard enough and long enough, with all my might, on all the stars in the blessed sky, would it be enough to make my hopes come true? Would someone really walk into my life and set on fire the passion that resides in my heart? It would bring me something that fulfils more than just a need for love or passion, but would heighten me spiritually, mentally, probably even physically; it would lift the veil which shrouds the finer aspects of life from me.

Is it you? It could be. I don't know. I don't know you. We haven't met. There have been others, to be sure, who have flitted in and out of my heart, alighting for a brief second and leaving not even a footprint, and of course those whose graffiti is still carved there, tender and sore, a scar which will always mark the surface. But none of them were you. I'm sure you've felt the same.

Maybe you aren't someone I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. And that's ok. We'll just be an absurd formula of the right person evoking the right feelings at the right time. Beyond that, once the moment's past, we have no control. We either fight to keep what we had, or let it go and know that it was the best it could be while it lasted. Either way, we're going to need one another. I'm just waiting. I'm sure we'll recognise each other when the time comes; it'll be something in the emotions hiding in our eyes, or the way we hold ourselves, or the way we speak, but whatever it is, it will be unmistakable. We will be unmistakable. Undeniable.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

The Time of Freedom

No air left to breathe, no songs left to hear, no visions left to see; you're robbing me of everything. You must know that you're duty isn't to take, it is to give, as it always has been, and nothing has happened to turn the tables, so why do you insist on doing what you should not?

You only ever saw a portion of who I am, never the whole picture; you saw what you wanted to see, and to the rest you were oblivious. You have no pride on me, only shame, you place no trust in me, only responsibility, you do not allow me to grow. But my wings want to unfurl; they beat against the bars of my cage, growing weary and bloodied as flesh hits metal repeatedly. You do nothing for me as it is, why not just let me go: I stand on my own two feet already.Where were you when I was trapped in my darkest days? You were blind and saw nothing. You didn't even know what had happened until months later; you didn't know how many tears I had shed in the dark of the night. If I told you this, you would exclaim that you didn't know because I didn't tell you, but as a parent, you have a responsibility to look for the unspoken and understand the unsaid. I didn't tell you because I knew you would be of no help, but instead deepen the festering wound. I've never been supported by you. You should be ashamed to know it and still treat me as you do.

The time of freedom is dawning. I'm going to stand tall and proud, spread my arms and feel the waves of exultation flood over me and fill me with a power that you cannot break. You had me, and you didn't treat me right, you broke me and were blind to my other emotional trauma, so now, you've lost me. You're going to watch me walk away as the person you aren't, the person I had to learn to be on my own because you were incapable of teaching me; the person you're going to wish you'd been.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Dreams and Dances

I only ever met you once, perhaps only in some night time vision, but that one time was enough. You loved me, and that meant everything. You had a choice follow all the rest to wherever they were going, or do what you wanted to do, and you chose the latter; you chose to dance with me in the carpark. In some euphoric high we danced to a music no one else could hear, and you loved me and I loved you, and nothing else mattered.

And even if others all draped themselves over you, like some sea creatures with powerful suction, I would know that they don't matter, that it is me you will come back to and show them all that you aren't available. You would have the choice of them, but you would pick me. And we would go back into the carpark and dance the night away to music only we can hear. The prospect is so exciting.

Are you real? I have no idea. If we met would I recognise you? Would you know me? I fear that it is not likely. We will probably walk past one another, completely oblivious. But maybe, if luck would have it, you would notice me, I would notice you, and we would somehow progress past a quick glance to conversation. From there, well, who knows?

Embrace Uncertainty

Don't sit there and wait for them to save you. They won't. Or at least, by the time they try, it'll be too late. Stand up, face the day. You may be awash with uncertainty, but don't let that stop you - embrace it, for it will take you to places you never thought you'd go. Life's fraught with uncertainty, but you can be brave and make it through it all.

Monday, December 20, 2010

The Next Great Adventure

Death. I hadn't really thought about it. We all know what it is, and we all try to postpone it as long as possible, but we never really think about it. We try not to, avoiding its creeping presence in our minds. There are those who fear it, wishing that they could outrun it and live forever. There are those who are not given a chance to think of it, snatched while they are still in the womb, never seeing the light of day. There are those who are taken prematurely, unfortunate circumstances pulling them from this world into the next. And of course, there are those who see life through to its promised end, who are graced by white hair and wrinkled skin, and they fall gently into Death's embrace.

Perhaps we place too much importance on Death. Perhaps it is merely a matter of the wrong attitude. If we sit an think about it, we realise nothing more than it is as though we are lights who are blown out, the length of our candlestick representative of our years, indicating how long we burned. We wonder what it is like, what happens next. Whether it is peaceful, or whether we are thrown into another world, another life, hell, heaven, white light or eternal flames. Or maybe there is nothing. Maybe there is everything.

It's simple, and yet complicated. We simply cease to be, or rather, our body stops functioning as it should, and there is something of ourselves left behind, but the question remains, were we just some biological anomaly, just some electrical impulse generated by the neurons in the brain; that's what generates our thoughts, yes, but our personality, our conscience? Is it the same? Death is something a bit beyond the simple fact that our body stops functioning, for many of us inherently believe, or rather, intuitively feel that we merely occupy our bodies, that while we live there, they are ours, but they do not play an essential part in our growth. It's what they call spirituality.

Maybe it's time to rethink our attitudes. Maybe it's time to do more than just accept Death, though many people have difficulty with that alone. Maybe we ought to stop thinking of it as our loss, and think of it as their gain. Our attitude stems from selfishness, because we do not like losing what is most dear to us, especially to the unknown, because we fear, for the deceased, and for ourselves; we feel that if someone close to us dies, then we ourselves are closer to the death we hope to avoid. However, I think the time is upon us where we ought to think of Death as a doorway, and rejoice for the deceased because they have attained something beyond us, taking the next step of their journey, not mourn because they are no longer with us. We all die at precisely the moment the universe intended for us to die; we will have learnt everything we needed to learn, and we will have taught others everything we will have needed to teach. With our roles so perfectly fulfilled, why on earth should we not move on? Death, after all, is the next great adventure.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Splashes of Technicolour

Well, you got caught in the web of my dreams again. I was surprised that you returned, so much did I think that I would never see you traversing the worlds of my mind again while I slept. Forgive me, the cobwebs of my dreams are draped all over the velvet night sky, it is not your fault that you flew straight into them. I should have been more considerate; I hardly think that you would want to settle in my mind again.

It led me to wonder, however, how you were, what you were doing, what kind of life you lead now. Whether you're happy, or merely content, or whether you are depressed and no one sees it. But, we made our choices long ago; the ways we tread are the ones we picked for ourselves.

And yet... I must add more. I could not help but wonder, as my eyes opened to greet the morning, still burning with the images of you, and as my body, wrapped in heavy blankets could still feel your presence, whether perhaps your return to my dreams was one of life's neon signs, screaming that our workings in each other's lives are not complete. Perhaps there are lessons to be learned from you yet; I cannot know, I will not know, until they are. The future may hold many things in store, perhaps one of them is the answer to why images evoked by your presence burn in technicolour, while everything else blurs and dulls in comparison.

Force of Creation

There's a whole world inside your head, perhaps even more than one. Voices whisper ideas to you while your mind wanders and you get lost in realms that only exist for you. And it's entirely up to you what it is you do with what your imagination reveals to you in these journeys.

I for one must pour forth what I see into something artistic, whether it be upon the face of a blank canvas, or in something more physical, a creation of an image, and now and then, I may even take the time to pen the visions. You see, some people in this world fix things, doctors, mechanics, plumbers, others organise things, managers, CEOs, and others still help people, psychologists, volunteers. Then, in a class of their own, completely unique, are the artisans, those who create, whether painters, sculptures, designers or writers, they all pour forth the things that perhaps we take for granted. They don't really have a choice, I don't really have a choice, being one of them. You see, being an artisan isn't something you do, it's who you are. You create because you must.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Good Enough

Just, tell me why, ok? You know what, don't bother, I'm sure you don't have a good reason. Whatever it is might be good enough a reason for you, but it sure as hell isn't for me, so back off. I'm going to do what I like, and tell people what I like, which is the truth: remember, that thing you can't handle because you're ashamed of it. That's all it is, you're ashamed. Well fuck you, because I'm proud.

Oh, and next time, think about respect. Think about privacy. Think about how you'd feel if it was you. No, I guess you're so self absorbed that no one else matters to you. Well fine, if that's the way you want it, you don't mean a damn thing to me either. I've never been one to fight you much, but keep going this way, and I will make your life a living hell. That or I'm going to get the hell out of here and you'll never see or hear from me again. Oh, the joys of such thoughts, they're overwhelming.

Stop making me feel like I'm caught between your life and mine, because that isn't going to happen anymore. I'm not going to let it happen. I'm sick of it. Because you know what, you've overstepped every single boundary, and now I just want out. And you know what else, I fucking deserve better.

Now and Always

I just want you to know that I'm proud of you. Whatever happens, whatever the world says or does, I want you to know that I'm proud. And I hope that means something to you.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010


It's about finding that sacred spot, that sanctuary, away from the sounds and the vexations of life; a place where you can just be. We all need one of those places, whether an actual place, or a refuge within our own minds, it is essential to our existence. Sometimes, we just need a break. Sometimes we need somewhere to run to, turning our back on the world and screaming "leave me alone", somewhere we can hide for a while, and rest our spirit. Somewhere we don't need to hide from ourselves.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

The Universe

We cannot even begin to fathom our insignificance amongst the size of the universe. We are tiny, minuscule, and even that is an exaggeration, making us think we are larger than we are. There are so many things, so many, which happen and cannot be explained, discoveries which turn accepted theories of science on their heads. Everything we thought we knew could be wrong; perhaps logic is pointing us in the way that our imaginations took a long time ago.

It's almost troubling that there are theories that black holes are doorways to other universes, because it means that perhaps our imaginations had led us to something we already knew, but had forgotten because it didn't seem reasonable. New discoveries, new theories, all challenge the boundaries of knowledge we have acquired about the universe; what we see is not only the tip of the iceberg, but what we know might not even be a fraction of the whole truth. It is awe inspiring to think that our universe only exists through a twist in chance, which did not result in total annihilation, as could have happened because of the universe's supposed original, equal proportions of matter and antimatter. It takes your breath away to know that if it had been slightly different, nothing would exist. Absolutely nothing.

However, science is fallible and often incorrect. We can only hope that sometimes we come across something that is actually right, that actually explains something about the universe. Only then can we stop calling them "theories" and start calling them "facts". But we should not be so lucky. Perhaps we aren't supposed to know everything about the universe, but simply accept that it is what it is.

Monday, December 13, 2010


What do you do when you're alone on the beach and the tide is rolling in? You sit and think about where you want to be and compare it to where you are, and wonder if you're capable of getting to that destination. You are, of course, we, as humans are always capable of achieving what we want, it all depends on adjusting attitude. Sometimes it's impossible, sometimes it's not, sometimes, it's the right thing.

It's all about discovery, a journey to find who you really are. Life is difficult when you don't know, and you'll wander and you'll hurt because you cannot fathom why you can't be who you want to be. Changing the attitude you've always held is not easy, and it's even harder when you don't know who you really are and what you really want. Are you as good as you liked to think? Are you worse? Do you have fun? Are you alone because you want to be?

Project yourself in the way you want to, if you know who that person you want to be is. Some spend their lifetime not knowing who they are, others always just knew; the rest take the time to try learn. Some succeed, some don't.

The only thing that's certain is that you cannot love anyone else without first loving yourself. And I'm not really sure, am I the type of person that I can love? Windows of opportunity open, it's time to start stepping through.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

The Obscure Road

I don't know where this might lead, for all I know, it may be to nothing. However, I have a good feeling about this, and that it might last. I can only hope that it comes to fruition. Isn't that every writer's dream?

The path will be arduous, but I just know that this time, I can do it. For once, I don't think I'll fall into a crevasse along the way and be hindered in my progress forward. This time, I might actually finish what I started. The way is not clear, the details not all sorted, even the major points not thought of yet, but it is of little consequence, for I have a determination which I hope will trump all obstacles that I may encounter. I hope that ideas will float down from the ether and alight upon me, presenting themselves to my mind so that I may scrawl them across the face of my paper. In the end, I hope to transform something rough and as yet undeveloped into something rich and fantastic and lasting. This may be my only chance of scarring the world in my own way, like so many others before me. It is the only thing we as humans dream of.


I'm so small, and the world is so big, but I feel like I'm trapped in a place where nothing changes. For so long, I lived well within these bounds, and now my deepest wish is to break free of them, cross them, not merely gaze out into the life that they keep me away from.

I look at others and hate them, think them stupid, but what's worse is that part of my hate stems from the wish that I was like them. For once, I want to be the wild one, irresponsible, free; and yet, as I say that, I know it cannot be, I would despise myself for becoming that person, but hate the world for not being them also.

We move in such limited circles, among people we have known too long. For me, I understand that they will not be the ones to introduce me to the life I've held back thus far. I want to meet someone who will. It's why I looked forward to leaving so much. I wish it would hurry, that this person and I could crash into one another in a blaze of smiles and laughter and trust, so that my journey into discovery may begin. I can't wait anymore, the time is upon me to grow; I can't hold it back any longer, for fear of it tearing me apart from within as it tries to break through the barriers of my current life. I'm tired of the suspended animation.

Friday, December 10, 2010

World Within My Head

My only hope is that my words are ones that interest at least one person, for if only one person appreciated them, then it was worth all the time and effort penning them. They may not touch the heart, or uplift the soul, nor even engross as those of others, but perhaps someone shall appreciate them, and draw entertainment from my imperfect sentences.

They shall not be words which swirl around the mind for years to come; I doubt I have the wisdom to find any words to do so. They shall not be words to entice forth a laugh; humour is relative, and sometimes is out of place. They shall not be words to beckon tears of sorrow; the heart's emotions are difficult to capture with meagre sentences. But hopefully, they shall make someone, anyone, feel something. If I have any skill at all in crafting words, I hope it emerges now.

As yet the pages are unmarked, with only few paragraphs of scrawled handwriting to decorate them. The more I pen, the more the book shall seem sullied, but that shall not prevent me from pouring forth the world within my head. This time it must come out, it must be finished. This time, I have the potential to do so. When I am finished, I shall pass it onto someone else to read, and hope, as they come to the close of the plot, that it wasn't as bad as I feared it might be. I shall search their eyes and pray that there is something there to give me hope about my words. If not, then I will know that I have tried, and that it is perhaps one vocation I should not pursue.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Parisian Romance

Amazing how I should feel a connection with you. However, I must say that it is impossible for me to not, especially after what you said. It seems you have a life of which I could only dream; I think sometimes that I am doomed to dream while you were allowed to live, if only for a fraction of the time, that life I would have liked. Perhaps not all of it. You had your troubles, many of which I would not have liked to tackle myself. But then came a breakthrough for you and you were introduced into the life of which you yourself dreamt.

Then, your Parisian marriage became a mistake, but worse, for you thought it would offer you what you wanted, an escape, an opportunity, but soon it became your cage. Yet your reasons behind it were ones I know and understand perfectly. My heart hurt as yours did, and I almost gasped at your words, struggling to fight back the urge to scream that I felt the same, that what you got was what I wanted. I don't want to spend my life alone. Perhaps the rest of the world doesn't understand the loneliness, but you do, that's why you married him, even though you knew you didn't love him. A mistake, but a romantic one which will leave you memories that you will never be able to forget. I can only say that I hope for the same. Only for me, it won't be a mistake.

"All of a sudden I'm by myself in a foreign country, and I meet this guy who says he loves me. He wants to take care of me. And one too many bottles of Chateaux Margaux and a view from the Eiffel Tower and why not?"

-Taylor Townsend
The OC 4.4

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Out of Time

Listen while I tell you what it's like for me. It's missing a life that you know you haven't led, missing songs you've never heard, missing places you've never been to, missing a sense of spirituality you've never held. It's no wonder that here I've always felt out of place; I've always felt out of time. 

Some of it is imagined, images, ideals gleaned from the novels which I have devoured over the years. But for that, it still seems as real as the life I lead now. I revel in melodies of times gone by, wishing that I was there, knowing that there is where I ought to be. This place seems like a wasteland: harsh, cold, and empty of the things which are important.

I know there are groups, among which I could be accepted, who still revel in the joys of the land and revere it for its gifts. Yet to join those who celebrate the sacred Sabbaths is to leave everything I have known. And this place is not without its good things too. Perhaps I must wed the life I wish I led to the life I do lead, full well knowing which would prevail over the other, and which would temper its attempts to reign. Then too, there would be those who would cast me out for my chosen path in life, those who would not understand, those from whom I have always wanted an escape. 

If I know anything, I know this: I do not belong here, I never have. Surely there must be places to whence I can go and satiate this hole within me. It will require sacrifice, I understand, of everything, of everyone I have ever known, but perhaps that is not too high a cost. Perhaps it is. I will never know until I am well and truly on the path that will either lead to my salvation, among ancient monoliths and ancient rituals, or my perdition, a soul crushing despair at making such a mistake. In the end I would be missing people I never truly learned to love, or be missing myself, who as such, I can never truly love. 

Oh if only life had been kind and thrust me back into the time I belonged, not here, where the greatest challenge will be learning to love myself in a world which I cannot accept. I only wish to explore the sacred pathways once more as the Ancients did before me.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

The First Baptism

Already you have felt as though you've drowned, but in that, you have found that you arrived at an unexpected place; a place which has brought an unusual peace. You were tried, the challenge thrown up against you, slapping you in the face with all its might. You faltered, you wavered, you stumbled. You spent immeasurable time twisting, turning, trying to shake off the challenge and the emotions unleashed in you. If the memory returns and catches you off guard, still your stomach sinks and your heart stops beating for a fraction of a second.

You confronted familiar things, and hidden things. You wanted to wail and weep, but held fast in the onslaught. Barely. There were times your fingers slipped and you almost relinquished your grip on the life you had. The temptation to run tugged strongly at your mind, clouded with fear and a strange depression. And yet, you are here. That voice which rebuked you yelled strongly at your reason while you tried to hold your own against the tide. It made you feel anger, and shame, and disappointment; it made you feel fear. It made you realise that it was a test of your worth, of what kind of person you were. You held to what you knew to be right; pain is inconsequential when it means you are serving something greater than yourself.

When you realised, the light of day had broken through and held you in embrace, caressing and soothing. You carefully prised your heart from the cold claw which held it and began to move forward, leaving the past to rot behind you. You knew that it was time to forge something different, something new, something better. You shall falter again, but again you will stand true and push through the uncertainty. It is the only way to prove your own worth to yourself. Only then shall you accept yourself as you never had before. The path you tread has already proved treacherous, and shall do so again and again, but it is the one which shall allow you to love, yourself foremost, and then others, more than any other. You know that there shall not come a time again where you stand back and watch them leave your life, nor will you abandon those who most need you. You've realised you're better than that.


Some things, they shock and haunt, searing themselves into your memory, leaving a scar that can never be erased. Some things, you don't know whether to weep at the dark beauty of it, or whether to scream and cringe from the horror. You stare, entirely captivated, eyes languidly perusing what you see, absorbing every detail, etching it all into your memory. You want to look away, horrified by the image, and yet it strangely enthrals you and you cannot tear your eyes away.

You stand there for a seemingly infinite time, so long that you can almost feel your body age. You hear the clock, its slow, heavy, rhythmic melody telling of the seconds which tick by. What will happen when time and luck run out?

You shall recall the images for the rest of your existence; they will burst forth and flicker before your eyes in the most unexpected of times, jolting you from reality into something darker, more sinister, and yet, entirely fictional. But its fictional nature does not overthrow its haunting nature. You shall never forget the first time you saw it, and it snatched your breath away, leaving you gasping for air, the pain in your chest mounting for the lack of oxygen.

Life isn't worth living without those moments that take your breath away. And beauty, even the darkest, most haunting kind, means nothing if you don't carry it with you in your soul.

Sunday, December 5, 2010


So just tell me, where have you all gone? I sit here and wait, check and recheck, but nothing. Suddenly, the world became a lonelier place. But that's ok; the sun will rise tomorrow, even though it sets on today, and I'll do it all again, all with a refreshed sense of hope.

I guess it doesn't matter much when you've become a number, just another statistic.

Last Ones Standing

I've been blessed to have known such a group of fantastic people, each one of the most amazing people on the planet. I'm glad that if I had to spend my final year in such a place, that it was with you; it means the world to me that you accepted me much more than any others.

There's you, one of the most beautiful people I've ever met, both on the inside and the outside; you're absolutely gorgeous. I owe you the biggest thanks of them all, for caring, talking and listening when I needed someone, anyone. When you took my hand tonight and led me to the dance floor, I complied and followed quietly, for how could I resist when you have been so kind? You didn't want me there for the sake of having me there, or to feel some sense of accomplishment at finally being the one to get me on the dance floor, you wanted me there because you wanted me to have a good time too, even though you are well aware that it's not quite up my alley. I hope that you continue to always treat people the way you have treated me, always greeting them with a huge smile and a warm hug, and I hope you always make people laugh with your antics; I'll always remember the time your sister and I laughed so hard because of something you did that we cried. It was the first time I'd ever laughed so hard in that class. You have a beautiful soul and a golden heart.

And you, the aforementioned sister, you're also amazing. Thank you so much for appreciating my humour and not thinking me a complete moron, despite the fact I'd deserve that classification. You were always so good to laugh along with, not only at the antics of your sister, but also other things. Tonight our laughs weaved themselves amid the loud music as we waited in the dark for our cue. Also, thank you for panicking just a little bit alongside me. It surprisingly means a lot.

Then there's you, who I've known for a good many years. You made things so entertaining with your little comments, leading us to chuckle a little, then smile and nod at each other suavely. Who would've thought that we'd have gotten along? We're not very alike at all, but no complaints here, I was grateful for someone to talk to when it seemed everyone else gravitated towards someone else.

And what to say to you? Did you see our fathers? They always get so crazy when they have one another, some alcohol and music. It's rather hilarious. But never mind them. You're also one of the most kind hearted people I've met. Also, one of the most understanding, and one of the most intelligent, and yet, put you together with that one other person, and everything seems to fade and you get lost amid insanity, laughter and a closeness akin to sisterhood.

You, the one who brings the insanity all about, you're the person I've known the longest among my friends. Crazy doesn't quite cover it. But it's fantastic! You're the person who manages to never look quite normal in photos, by your own admittance, the one who can be obstinately argumentative and who doesn't know how to let it go to prove a point, but must always argue it until someone listens. The one who cannot physically sit still once music starts playing, not even long enough to be in a photo. The one who's known me long enough to see the changes in me. Yet still the one who will talk to me as if nothing ever changed, though the fact we've drifted is obvious enough in our conversations. You're still one of the funniest people I know, one of the most stubborn, and, one of the shortest.

You all make up such a fantastic group, it's difficult to fathom how I could not have let myself get closer to you earlier. But then I remember why.

It was because of you. I don't blame you for keeping me from them, that was my fault as well, for letting you and for closing myself off from the world. You who walked out too early on a group of people you would have benefited from knowing a little better. Their being so down to earth would perhaps have grounded you a little too, and we know that would have been a good thing for you. I actually pity you for not knowing them better, you don't understand that you walked out on an amazing bunch of people. I'm sorry for you. Yet, also not at all. If you hadn't left, I wouldn't have learnt what they were really like either, and as much as I feel sorry for you, I realise that it's because of you that I never laughed like I did with them.

To the rest I have to say to you that we've been fledglings for such a long time. One by one now, we are slowly learning to fly, and now, all together as one, we've taken the steps to leave the nest. We may not meet there anymore, but we all know that we will meet again. In a community like ours, it's impossible for it to be otherwise, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Friday, December 3, 2010


Thoughts keep churning, always returning to the same spot, the same answerless questions; such is that cycle of nature - it applies even to the workings of our minds. I always come back to this very spot, the view is always the same, the question always repeated, an answer never procured. Somehow I'm too afraid to look any further, even though an answer would allow my whirling mind to settle, at least for a little while.

What can I say? The way things are are the way things are. Perhaps it could be different; perhaps the way things are is only the tiniest glimpse of the way things could be. Would that we had the courage to try things a different way.

Do you ever wonder? What thoughts splatter the walls of your own mind? Are they similar to the ones which haunt mine? I'll never know, and for the most part, am content with that, but sometimes it would be nice to have just a little bit of insight. But it is so easy to speak of others and never of the things in our hearts; we dress our secrets in the most elaborate of guises, hoping that no one can decipher them, and yet, praying that they do. All the while we sit and gaze, impassive to the world, embarrassed by our mind's suggestions, knowing but hiding how much we wish they were a reality.

I have not the courage to speak of this, except in the secret places, where none shall hear me, where none shall know the truth. I have not the courage to pursue a different course, and should I lose you in the process, I shall bear that cross, with the full knowledge that it was I who sat on the emotions, quenching their battle for escape, suppressing the knowledge of their existence from you. Contrary to all advice, I will sit and wait, even though this might be the worst mistake I could ever make.

In the end, I will return here, to this place, this familiar place which has long known my presence, for every time I leave, I inevitably return. The scenery may change slightly between each visit, but the cycle never breaks; it's just one long carousel ride. For all its flashing lights and decadence, it's really all the same; there are only so many times you can go around.

The Light Behind Your Eyes

And when I'm with you, the hardest thing is to tell you that you're perfect.