True love lasts a lifetime...

If you truly believe that, then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait waistcoat - your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. In your quiet moments you should have no watcher but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you might give me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of recognition for me.

So many dark nights, so many dark days...

Been waking up to a new year,

got the past million miles away.

I've been waking up with a new fear,

but I know it will wash away.

Whatever you do, don't worry about me,

I'm thinking about you, 

don't worry about us,

because in the morning everything can change,

and time will tell you it does.

Trying not to go insane...

I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how content one can be with nothing definite - only a sense of existence. Well, anything for variety. I am ready to try this for the next ten thousand years, and exhaust it. How sweet to think of. That is one good thing about this world, here are always sure to be more springs, and the key is simple; to expect everything to be given to you from above, yet to be genuinely surprised and forever grateful, when they are. Expecting all good things to be yours, while not knowing how to take anything for granted.

Sunshine about to come my way...

There will be better days...

Maybe it's wrong when we remember breakthroughs to our own being as something that occurs in discrete, extraordinary moments. Maybe falling in love, the piercing knowledge that we ourselves will someday die, and the love of snow are in reality not some sudden events; maybe they were always present. Maybe they never completely vanish, either.

And he knew, knew for sure, with an absolute certainty, that his breakthrough was eminent. This is what is feels like to be on the verge of a breakdown and a breakthrough. The secret? It is not some grand, wretched emotional breakdown. It is, in fact, so very mundane. It is an inability to cope with the commonplace that is so extreme it makes even the grandest and loveliest things unbearable. It is feeling that the only thing that matters in all of life is this one moment. It is everything out of focus. It'a failure of vision, a failure to see the world how it is; to wonder why the hell things look the way they do and not - and not some other way. It is realised that if you’re about to break, you should go for broke.

May we never shed another tear...

Keep with me in the moment...

The more I took note of how my body and brain clicked along through the day, the more I realized that I spent a considerable amount of time banging around with a brain full of chatter; a rush of things to do, telephone calls, text messages, e-mails, worrying about my job or my looks, my hair or my body; I rushed from thing to thing, multitasking, triple-timing, hoping to cover all the bases, avoiding anything that might disrupt the schedule or routine. At times, I was so caught up in the tempo and pattern, the predictable tap, tap, tap of each day, that there was no time to notice, the wind was sneaking in from the north, the sun was shifting on its axis, and tonight the moon would look like the milky residue floating inside an enormous cereal bowl. I wondered when I had become a person who noticed so little.

I need to know what I've done wrong...

My head's spinning,

boy, I'm in a daze.

I feel isolated,

don't wanna communicate.

I'll take a shower, I will scour,

I will rub to find peace of mind -

the happy mind I once owned.

Feeling lost at sea...

Patience is not passive resignation, nor is it failing to act because of our fears. Patience means active waiting and enduring. It means staying with something and doing all that we can - working, hoping, and exercising faith; bearing hardship with fortitude, even when the desires of our hearts are delayed. I can be draining and feel like a waste of time, yet somehow I have found that it usually pays off in the end. patience is not simply enduring; it is enduring well. We were rewarded for our commitment and even if circumstances don't go our way, the satisfaction of knowing that you did all that you could is somehow worth it. So here I stand, here I stay. Will you stand with me?

I don't want the sun to burn without you...

Time we had the talk...

He looked at the people around him and felt not just that he was surrounded by strangers, but that he himself was strange, somehow, that something kept him from ever fully bridging the gap between who he was and who all these other people, making their way through the very same day, were.

Freedom is the possibility of isolation. You are free if you can withdraw from people, not having to seek them out for the sake of money, company, love, glory or curiosity, none of which can thrive in silence and solitude. If you can't live alone, you were born a slave. You may have all the splendours of the mind and the soul, in which case you're a noble slave, or an intelligent servant, but you're not free. And you can't hold this up as your own tragedy, for your birth is a tragedy of fate alone. Hapless you are, however, if life itself so oppresses you that you're forced to become a slave. Hapless you are if, having been born free, with the capacity to be isolated and self-sufficient, life should force you to live with others.

It's not my fault...

Have faith in me...

Now, it's time to free me from the chain,

I gotta find that peace, or is it too late?

Could this love protect me from the pain?

I would battle for you, 

even if I break in two,

because all I ever wanted was love.

Those kind of lies...

I've decided to steer clear of telling. At least for now. Especially given the fictional nature of this endeavor. What good would the truth do? It might just complicate my end goal. In real life, I talk freely about my story. About us. But here I've kept it under wraps because I don't want to shock or make anyone distressed. I never lied though. At best I am vague. I feel deceitful at times. But I can't just drop it on someone. It's not that I should be honest with everyone, the white lies I tell strangers I don't mind. But there are those I see time and again, share jokes and personal dilemmas, and even they don't know. They see my cheery side. And I kick myself for being a fraud. I can see, though, that my secrecy does me no favors. It probably makes worse my sense of being outlandish. It confirms to me that it might be abhorrent, my story, or that few can relate to it.

I'm leaving heaven...

Way off in the deep...

One day you're going to miss the subway because it's not going to come. One of these days, it's going to break down and it's not going to come around and everyone else will just wait for the next one or will take the bus, or walk, or run to the next station: they will go on with their lives. And you're not going to be able to. You'll be standing there, in the subway station, staring at the tube. Why? Because you think that everything has to happen perfectly and on time and when you think it's going to happen. And you'll be the only one who's not going to be able to go on with life, just because you don't know how to let go, you've got to know that things don't happen the way you think they're going to happen, but that's okay, because there's always the bus, there's always the next station, you can always walk back home.