Lets finish what we started...

I can see you hurting -

I've been through the same thing,

but baby, don't you worry, I got you.

I just wanna know you,

tell me all your secrets

looking like you need it.

I had a dream we were back to seventeen...

He who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much - has achieved success. Who has enjoyed the trust of pure friends, the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task with pride and a sense of belonging with his fellow comrades; who has never lacked appreciation of the beauty around him or failed to express it to those he loves; who has left the world better than he found it, whether with an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had; whose life was an inspiration; whose memory a benediction.

Worst of us...

Who's gonna rock you when the sun won't let you sleep?

My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while. I'm two, and both keep their distance - Siamese twins that aren't attached, and scream into the void, where their words can be twisted into any shape. Where their promises can be made to lull the heart and seduce the soul, for in the final analysis, words mean nothing. They are labels we give things in an effort to wrap our brains around their underlying natures, when the totality of its nature is an entirely different beast. The wisest among us is the silent one. Examine his actions. Judge him by them.

Our polaroids and the memories...

The dark side of the morning...

He wanted something else, something different, something more. Romance was for the ordinary, the mundane. Perhaps quiet conversations in candlelit rooms, or maybe something as simple as not being second. For he is not in search of sanctity, sacredness, purity, and all these things are found after life, not in this existence. Because here and now he strives to be completely human: to feel, to give, to take, to laugh, to get lost, to be found, to dance, to love and to lust. To be so human.

I have found recently that passion is something we all posses. It lies in all of us - sleeping, waiting, and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir, open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us, guides us, rules us, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred, the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear, yet if we could live without it, maybe we'd know some kind of hallow peace. Cluttered in empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.

Nowhere's high enough...

I had a dream, we were back to seventeen,

summer nights and never growing up.

I'll take with me the polaroids and the memories,

but you know I'm gonna leave behind the worst of us.

Who's gonna walk you through the dark side of the morning? 

Who's gonna rock you when the sun won't let you sleep? 

Who's waking up to drive you home when you're drunk and all alone? 

Who's gonna walk you through the dark side of the morning? 

Some fairy tale bliss...

Float like an eagle, drop like the rain...

Spet? Še vedno?

Nč ni narobe, če verjameš.

Engulfed by his inherent melancholy, he once again says goodbye to the life he knew, and readies himself to step into the fold. Into the darkness and thrill of the unknown - the unfathomable and unimaginable. The inspired and thrilling. Will he succeed where before he failed? Will he thrive or simply strive? Will he be reckless and kind? A beacon of hope? A dreadnought of justice? A void of sadness? The harbinger or truth? So many possibilities, and as always before, so many ways for things to go awry. Yet here he sits, by himself, wondering what life has in stored next, and if perhaps it might be everything he ever wanted ... everything he ever dreamt.

Need a brand new coat of paint...

My heart is all I own...

Falling in love was as much about receiving as it was giving, wasn't it? Even though it seemed selfish, it was not - quite the opposite. Keeping oneself from being loved was to refuse the ultimate gift. For he had thought himself done with romantic love. He had thought himself an incurable cynic. Yet as current truths come to light, it is evident that he was not. He was only someone whose heart and mind, and very soul, had been battered and bruised. It was still - and always - safe to give since there was a certain deal of control to be exerted over giving. Taking, or allowing oneself to receive, was an altogether more risky business. For receiving meant opening up the heart again. Perhaps to rejection. Or disillusionment. Or pain. Or even heart break. It was all terribly risky. And all so terribly necessary.

A never ending life...

You know when you plan for a single event for over a year, and then it happens, and it goes beyond anything you could have imagined? I never did, and now I do, and I can't really explain what I'm feeling, I just have an unquenchable desire to write it down. You see ... I poured myself into the potential of something that one else could see but me, and I'd hate to jinx it too soon, but I think it might lead me down a path greater than expected. If nothing else, I have proven that I am worthy of time, worthy of trust, worthy of love. So as I sit here, rejuvenating from the gut-wrenching process, I find only deep serenity within my mind, a newfound softness in my heart, and the resolve to see where this crazy journey might take me - come wonder or defeat, come blisters or bliss.

Now I'm hypnotised...

Been rusting in the rubble,

nunning to a faint,

need a brand new coat of paint.

I found myself in trouble,

thinking about what ain't -

never gonna be a saint.

Saying float like an eagle,

fall like the rain,

pouring to put out the pain,

oh again and again.

Just dive in and follow my lead...

It is a curious thing, but perhaps those who are best suited for power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like him, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well. That somehow, once thought of only as weak and timid, made him push further than others, finding himself on the other side as glorious as they never imagined he could be. Greater than all of them combined.

As I begin what feels like the culmination of my entire life, I wonder how I got here, and if by any chance, this isn't what I'm supposed to be doing. Perhaps time and circumstance has led me somewhere I don't truly belong, and all this is, is some sort of deprived way of finishing every dream I've ever dreamt. If that were the case, I wouldn't be surprised, yet somehow I believe that this story will have a different ending. And if nothing else, this really feels like the end of something big, and the beginning of something else. Who knows what, who knows where, heck I dare not even claim I know the who. Exciting, isn't it? Everything you worked for, laid out before you ... with the potential to be set ablaze or forever buried beneath the ground.

The gun rattles on...

I've got spirits on my mind...

Just hold on...

When you get bit by a snake,

you have to suck the poison out.

Friendship is delicate as a glass, once broken it can be fixed but there will always be cracks, because if a friend disappoints you over and over, that’s in large part your own fault. Once someone has shown a tendency to be self-centred, you need to recognise that and take care of yourself - people aren’t going to change simply because you want them to. For friendship plants itself as a small unobtrusive seed; over time, it grows thick roots that wrap around your heart. When a love affair ends, the tree is torn out quickly, the operation painful but clean. Friendship withers quietly, there is always hope of revival. Only after time has passed do you recognise that it is dead, and you are left, for years afterwards, pulling dry brown fibres from your chest.