After everything has been put into perspective for me, I am stuck.

The control we have of every aspect of our being except our emotions awes me.

If there is a heaven, this is it.

"Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."

I am most prone to my own deception.

Every so often, my mind takes an unexpected turn that I cannot seem to avoid. These are the times that I have to force myself to become blind and continue on my original path.

"Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody."
- Holden Caulfield

"The greatest irony of life is loving the right person at the wrong time, having the wrong person when the time is right and finding out you love someone after that person walks out from your life and sometimes you think you’re already over a person but when you see them smile at you, you’ll suddenly realize that you’re just pretending to be over them just to ease the pain of knowing that they will never be yours again. For some, they think that letting go is one way of expressing how much you love the person. Most relationships tend to fail not because the absence of love; love is always present. It’s just the one was being loved too much and the other was being loved too little as we all know that the heart is the center of the body but it beats on the left. Maybe that’s the reason why the heart is not always right. Most often we fall in love with the person we think we love only to discover that for them, we are just for past times, while the one who truly loves us remains either a friend or a stranger. Here’s a piece of advice: let go when you’re hurting too much, give up when love isn’t enough and move on when things are not like before. There is someone out there who will love you even more, surely then, you will know true love."

"Let them sink. Let them sink. Let them sink." We walked into the gallery. "Let them sink. Let them sink. Let them sink." The whispering of this unknown man's voice made my spine stiffen. It covered my skin in chills. Everything became dark. I falsely admired the artwork surrounding me, inching my way towards this chant. It conquered all other thoughts. I saw the video; the greyscale bottom half of a man's face, upside down with a five o'clock shadow. I watched his mouth form these vowels and consonants, not in sync with the audio reel. My eyes wandered to the description. "Lip Sync" This is when it occurred to me that my senses were wrong. I found comfort in the plaque that clarified my interpretation. I continued on through the gallery. His voice carried. The harsh whispering. "Let them sink. Let them sink. Let them sink." It wouldn't change. I sought the actual words. They were nowhere to be found. "Let them sink. Let them sink. Let them sink." I turned the corner. There, another audio piece introduced itself. "Let them sink. Let them sink. Let them sink" in collaboration with a child screaming. "Let them sink. Let them sink. Let them sink." Screaming. Dark. I tried to escape the sounds and give myself to actuality, but there was no way out. Seconds and minutes passed. The artwork only traveled through the most surface layers of my mind. I continued to the back of the museum. A piece consisting of only typewriter ink; aesthetically formatted and printed in black and red. Deciphering the code, it read "HUMAN SKULLS AND BONES" "CONVENT" "A VIEW FROM THE CHURCH TOP" "SIN". "Let them sink. Let them sink. Let them sink." Darker. I continued to the next piece. A worn newspaper with a graphite sketch over it. The articles featuring news about South American slaves. The art, drawn over the articles, a line of five black men, metal chains around their necks, a hand thrust forward. Eyes whited out. "Let them sink. Let them sink. Let them sink." A child screaming. "HUMAN SKULLS AND BONES." A battle in my mind; dark masking light. A battle between consciousness and a dissociative state; thoughts masking presence. "Let them sink. Let them sink. Let them sink." Screaming. "SIN". Eyes whited out. It is a chamber of my mind seldom visited. It is menacing. It is morbid. It is everything that is ominous and beautiful. I wanted to bask in it. I wanted to escape from it. I wanted to know it. I wanted to dismiss it. Eyes whited out.
It is a chamber of my mind seldom visited, but I didn't want to leave.

Speeding ahead at roughly seventy miles per hour, my mind is racing faster. The further we get from the city, the more aware I become of your presence. I try to look out the window; a successive line of green with occasional breaks of brick red. I try to appreciate this neglected beauty, but these images are not being interpreted. They pass by my eyes as though I am blind. I try to focus on the sounds that are surrounding me; the shrill whistle from ahead, the rumbling of the tracks below us, the rattling of the windows. These noises, they surpass my absolute threshold, yet all I can hear is the click of your keyboard. I am too aware of the mere inches between us. All I see is you, all I hear is you, all I feel is you. I rummage for my iPod. I immerse myself into the music. As I begin to lose myself, my eyes wander towards you. I know you can feel me. I know you know. I start towards my calm. I am approaching the serenity. As I enter it, I recognize a desire for your presence. I long for you to accompany me. Physically, you are only inches away, but that is not enough. The music, it fades into white noise. The rushing landscapes, they blur out of focus. There is you. There is you. There is you. Come with me.
And you do.

I want to get away from my thoughts, if only for a while. I want to let myself fall into the words of another. I want to enter the separate reality of a book, not even a good book, just a book. Good books and bad books, they are just the same. A bad book is the best book, as is a good book. I want to engross myself in the serenity of a book store. Not a mainstream one. Not the ones with the new "Top Sellers" and "New Releases". No. I want to go to one that has books unheard of. I want run my fingertips against the worn spines of the classics. The neglected. The water damaged. Those are the best. Ripped, dog-eared, wrinkled and stiff pages. I want to go to a book store that overwhelms you solely with its aroma; old books. I want to sit surrounded by stacks of books. I want my hardest decision in that moment to be which of the fourteen books I've picked out I should buy. I want to lose myself in the world of literature. I want to share that world with someone. I want someone to be there, appreciating the smell and the feel of people's thoughts and memories. Someone come get lost with me.

Four days ago, those words made me crumble. I turned to stone, worn and weathered. Pieces of me, they fell as I cracked and deteriorated. I remained stone, watching myself coming apart; helpless and unmoving. A tension grew; a swelling, as though I would explode from the inside out. This pressure, it continued building up; a burning wick inching nearer to the explosion. Today, you broke the barrier. That simple, seemingly insignificant question. I can't tell if it put out the flame or served as a catalyst to the demolition. Whichever, it doesn't matter; as long as you are here.

I'm so sick of words. Words have such power; they are so fascinating and majestic. Words are also so easily manipulated; they are easy to use but not to mean.

This is why.
This is why.
This is the exact reason why.

I saw it approaching, yet I was still blindsided. I braced myself in advance for the impact, yet it still felt the same. Now all I'm left with is the rubble from the attempt to block it all out.

This happens every time. I have emotions and ideas that I want to say. I want to write them and make them concrete. I open this page, and I sit here. My fingers resting lightly on the keyboard, prepared to create something beautiful. I sit here as one too many thoughts rush through my head. They are fleeting. I catch only a glimpse of their contents. I want to hold just one long enough to make something out of it, but I can't. The feelings and the thoughts, they correlate. With these synapses come emotions that crash into me from every direction, just as fleeting as the thoughts that encourage them. I want to sift through these sudden bursts. I want to find one that can be made into something significant, something lasting.

The sky, fading from indigo to blue to yellow to orange to pink; a water color symphony. These diluted hues of light, disrupted by masses of grey. Deeper, lighter, more menacing shades of grey. This beautiful contrast of vibrancy and dullness. It engulfs me. I commit it to memory. I etch it into my mind. This beautiful contrast of vibrancy and dullness.

From this existence, I am hanging merely by a string. A string that keeps me intact, a string that keeps me from falling. This string, it is small. And I am hanging by it, merely a string. I look around, and there is nothing to break my fall. There is no ledge to cling to. The top, it is out of reach. Around me, there are no walls. There is only down. Down. Down. Down. There is down, and that is all there is. I want to break this string. It is slowly becoming weaker, and I am watching. Helplessly, I watch as my fall approaches. Can't I just speed up the process? But a string, it is stronger than it seems. It does not just break, merely a string, it is still strong. This string, it may last. It may hold all of this weight. Or it may come crashing down. This string, it is strong and will not break at will.

I try to look past it. I try to avoid and ignore it. To me, it doesn't exist. Then the curtain is pulled aside, and the truth is exposed. It seeps in. It rushes through my body like adrenaline. It drops in my stomach like a weight. It sets my hands apart from my body. Everything moves slower; mellifluous. I draw into myself. I feel myself stepping back. I am building my walls closer, sealing them tighter. I am coming undone. The seams are bursting and fraying at the ends. And now, I am in my haven. You are under my skin. You are in my head. But in my haven, I am in solitude; safe and protected by walls built close enough to touch.

I should have let you know. I should have clarified before you got involved. I should have told you the condition of my heart.

The girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

Remember simplicity. Remember that this is easy. It is beautiful and it is effortless. If only emotions could be tamed.

I am afraid.

There's always another curtain. One that you don't see until someone points it out. But, in reality, you knew it was there. You just chose to never verify its existence. Once brought attention to, reality walks in. And everything you've been trying to avoid, it all comes to life. Then, it all makes perfect, unbearable sense.

I can't think of the words to describe what I feel right now. I know what it is, but I don't want to admit it. I feel that if I write about it, it will become more real. I want to ignore this. It isn't worth it. But it is here. It is here and it is real. It has come for a reason. Something has caused it. Something in my subconscious mind has beckoned this emotion. I bid it away. I do not want its company. The more I write about it, the easier it is to feel. I knew it would be arriving. I wish it gone. I need a distraction; something to take my mind away from reality, only for a while. I do not need to create an illusion for the illusion that is deteriorating. I just need something to catch my eye while reality reveals itself. Maybe then it won't be as menacing.

Safety.

Terror does not come with tangible things. It does not arrive with a thunderstorm, or a clown, or a stranger. Terror comes with things that cannot be seen. I am terrified of many things: failure, rejection, disappointment, mistakes. Yet, more than anything, I am terrified of revelation in terms of myself. I am afraid to uncover and expose myself. I am not afraid of this because of what will be thought of me. I am afraid of this because it creates an opportunity for me to be hurt. With revealing myself, I make myself vulnerable and subject myself to pain. I am terrified because I want you to discover me. I am terrified because after I show you everything, I have nothing left, but I still have everything to lose.

Please, please, please let me, let me, let me get what I want this time.

Should I give up? Or should I just keep chasing pavements, even if it leads nowhere?