It’s been years since I fell asleep not thinking of tomorrow. So much has happened. So much beauty and unhappiness. Of all that’s been and lost, and all that never was. In the lonely hours when no one else is around, I show my true face. I push people away. I cling to my own desperate sense of longing. There’s something in the truth of absence. Something in the shadows that calls my name. I’m not a monster, I promise it to the stars. There’s love behind my cold eyes, it just gets lost in the labyrinth of my emotional turmoil. Always searching for what can never be found. There’s a secret I’m after that has no language to reveal its true meaning. Too absent minded and too wrapped up in what lies beyond. The death of Jeff Buckley suddenly makes me feel even sadder. The scent of the candle before the fireplace reminds me of a time where there was no fear of being natural. Only sunshine and freedom. Breathing air without anxiety. A life without worry and the fear of fear. To remember a state of mind where there was only love. My condition may be chemical or natural, but it can never be cured. It’s within me, deep in these bones that will one day be nothing more than dust. Eternal like the darkness of space, my reason for being is out of reach left dangling in the wind. So many years half dead not trusting myself. All those seasons spent alone doing anything other than putting pen to paper. Getting drunk and disappearing within my own mess of excuses. All those beautiful people I betrayed. Those lovers cheated out of fair deal. If this is a man, then it’s not my fault. There’s an enemy in me that can’t be denied. It’s in the strings of life, delicately perched on the brink of nothingness.