I think, for once, it's actually working, this getting over myself. This horrible sense of hopelessness and stupidity feel like they're lifting away, leaving me to think my creative thoughts, to help, to be. To be the person I once was, the person I wanted to be. Back to my less worn path, create my own footsteps in the mud path, to listen and just be free. I think about it now, and suddenly, it's not so bad, not so here, not so there, not anywhere, to close eyes and feel the world again, to hear the sounds of trees and their wisdom, that the buildings speak, that feeling of other people, to be in the world. Alone, but not alone. I feel as if I'd been estranged from them for far too long, but maybe they heed my cries and lonely pleading. Have I not been punished enough? A lifetime of silly suffering, not making me stronger but weaker, broken, hidden, dead. Free to pretend to be any person at any given moment, not caring for thought or time or space or anything else. Free of my own ennui, not to be an idiot, spirit crushed, soulless swirling, mired in thought and the mud. Touching each object and knowing, again, as I once did, as I wanted to pretend I never could, but couldn't help. Fighting against my nature, struggle of reasons, denying that which is essentially me. Of not being a child, which was done and over with long before being a teenager, of wanting to move on to a better place alone, to stand away from crowd, feeling the thoughts, seeing the night for what it is, not that daybreak isn't beautiful. Creatures, demons, dark ones, and we're friendly, always have been, and always will, calling me, talking to me again, and that, that is where I wanted to be because I missed them, I missed them, my friends, so much while I was hiding, denying, lying to myself. It did change, didn't it, be damned if a random psychic on the internets is right. It's that world, that is the world I live in, which makes it a far more interesting world than a person would think, to think and know things, to see far beyond facades and words and actions, to follow the threads of life itself to an infinite end. The times, they come, they go, seasons change but the emotional seasons reflect a far deeper course. To be in the element, sneaking, hiding, just observing, no hint or trace of it all, spying and taking notes. Sneaking around, feeling them out, knowing what is and is not. So normal looking, no real guess...and it pleases me. Oh, how it does, A Great Performance, a smile, a casual look. The thought was always there, rattling around, seeking out sympathy. And I'm ecstatic, euphoric even that he or she has gone, hopefully for good, bogging the brain down in useless hopefulness of so many things, it took far too long for the toxic to ooze away, slithering in contempt and righteousness. And I can just be again, like so long ago, in the Garden of Statues and Moonlight, dancing with those guardians, childlike and evil, poetic dances at high moon, basking in the glow of silly, no longer mired in the mud of desperation and sadness...knowing that I will just let me be me.