It's not about the story, it's how it is told...

To tell you the truth, there are times when I cannot distinguish between what is real and what isn't. It's hard to explain, but sometimes I find myself being completely overwhelmed by this devouring instinct that there's something out there, that there's something within me, making me drift to somewhere I can't remember, but I know is there. A few times I was almost able to place it, but just when I thought I had it, it vanished as mysteriously as it came...

I keep looking out the window, trying to see something that would enlighten the darkness of the unknown. I never see anything, yet I never stop looking. Maybe this is all I'm ever going to get. A blatant stare, an unsolvable puzzle and an infatuation with what I cannot have. All I have to do now, is find a way to be ok with that, or give up a part of myself in order to live as normally as one can. How about for once, you all tell me what to do? A preacher is only as good as the people who listen to him, so I guess I would be a hypocrite if I didn't lend my ear. The only question that now remains, is if care about what you have to say. I pretend I don't and I probably always will. But deep down, somewhere underneath all the clutter of my soul, lies a fragile individual, who has no idea what to do and is crying out for a helpful hand...

I've shared a lot with you and I feel like we've been through all of it together. But it's not like it was, it's better. Because we'll never be as young as we are right now, we'll never be here again. I know I've said it all before, but strangely enough it hasn't fully sunk in yet and I have a feeling it never will. We'll always miss opportunities, we'll always have regrests, but one thing we'll never have again, is today...