#244

Things have come a long way. From the day I first started smoking. Like moths to a flame, we are drawn. Delicate pencil shadings, undefined, yet with form and purpose. Ever since he mentioned it. I've wondered, (in my usual pathological nature,) what he meant.

I used to know, but now I've forgotten

Sometimes I still wonder why I continue to smoke. Between the defined lines that outline each character, is a shade of blue. We are after all a shade of blue. Between the defined reality, is a the way we shade our perception of what it has all become, white, or black and blue.

Life is about ups and downs. It's about chance meetings, and unexpected drifting aparts. Its about first times, and second chances. It is about hope, and love, and freedom, as well as being let down, being alone, and being chained. The haunting memory of better yesterdays, causing fear in the hopes of better tomorrows.

I'm missing the point. Or rather I'm not willing to say what I mean. Self censorship dishonest writing can only mean one thing. I'm trying to live my life. So I ask. Would I rather be able to write and be miserable, "on-the-verge-of-suicide" miserable my whole life? Or be happy.

At some point in the life of every person he will be faced with this. (Praise be to my attempt to not be an elitist prick.) As we discover the life of Kalo, we realise it is not shameful to enjoy a simple life, to enjoy a life without great epiphanys.

Its a great crime to write such uninspired garbage. It pollutes the idea of what it could have been. It cheapens everything that comes before it. A fresh sheet again. The mood is not contemplative, its angst on the verge of rage.

I don't trust you. I don't care for your half hearted roles. I have no desire to tolerate your thoughtless actions. The measured way you deal with me. Your hypocrisy, your blood sucking ways.

Sometimes I don't know why I care. Like believing in promises, I just set myself up for disappointment. I search of happiness, and inspiration, but when I find it. I find myself alone, to deal with it. This feeling is winning the lottery, and finding out you're the only person left. Its climbing to the top, when everyone around you is at the bottom. Its not being able to believe in anything, not even yourself. It's crippling, fear, eating down into the very fiber of you.

I had a friend. At least I thought I had a friend. Now I don't. When I look at all the other people who say they are my friends, I'm not as sure as I used to be. I used to be warm, and kind. I once used the last of my money to buy a starving cat some food. Somehow I thought it meant something. I believed in Jesus, when he told people that giving everything you've got makes you a better person. I used to believe in the Tooth Fairy, because my parents did a good job at sneaking in and out of my room and I never caught them at it. Somehow, I grew up and the world lost its naivety, while I lost my charm. One day, I'll stop fighting. I'll stop believing that I was happy yesterdays ago. I'll forget that I was ever loved, and deep down inside me, too deep for me to hear, my inner-child will most probably cry; tears that I had forgotten meant something at one time in my life. And he will regret the day I lost the courage, and decided to live past my time.