Seriously! What is my fucking problem? Honestly, if I were outed, if real people knew about this obsession, I would be jailed, handcuffed and hauled away because I am certifiable, insane, wacko, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg, as they say. I really wonder if other people feel like me, as if the world were ending, crumbling into bits under their feet, and all the while, they try to save it, salvage something from the ashes, but ashes crumble too. Do people feel this very deeply,
so deeply that wells and caves and swimming pools cannot defy the depths of this ache? And for what? For nothing but words on a page and misery beneath skin. Nothing but unsatisfied walls creased with regrets and mistakes, walls built to stop the falling but they are falling too now, cascading around me in brick and mortar waterfalls of feeling. And what’s stopping me is everything, every little choice that add up to huge ones that can’t be decided, not now and maybe not ever because balloons keep popping and bridges keep collapsing and I’m in the middle with these feelings flying like terrified rainbows and I just need your voice or hand, something to know my insanity is not all for nothing.