Not coming back here anymore...

Now that you're standing right here...

He wondered if some part of him knew what was waiting for him. That he would never be a gentle grower of things, or someone who burned like fire - but that he would be quiet and enduring and as faceted as the night. That he would have beauty, for those who knew where to look, and if people didn't bother to look, but only to fear it, then he didn't particularly care for them, anyway. He wonders if, even in his despair and hopelessness, he was never truly alone. He wonders if he was looking for this place - looking for you all. The people who look at the stars and wish. The stars who listen, and the dreams that are answered.

From the bottom of my boots...

Rad bi rekel, da sem že prispel,

ampak mislim, da sem še daleč stran.

I try to focus, but there's a disconnect between my body and my mind, like nothing about it fits anymore. I don't feel like I belong in this body; like I've lost my ability to interact with this world. It feels like I'm observing through a veil, and I don't know how to move. Panic is a type of pain too. And going forward I really need to learn how to tame mine. My thoughts aren't real. The scenarios in my head aren't a warning. They're a pathology. And like any other corrosive limb, I need to cut it off. Set my body free and continue with less of me. Hopefully enough to still resemble a person.