It's an unfamiliar feeling, the long-ago forgotten way my head would spill over with thread upon thread of spinning tales, so much that the world would become lost and insubstantial amidst the thrumming of the gears beneath it.
I used to think a lot. Real fast and hard and angry-like, seething with indignance that nobody could even glimpse the worlds that I was discovering.
Sometimes I like to think that it's because I was a brilliant child, whether through a lucky upbringing or genes or some destiny-spun magic, but mostly I realize it is because of the talent with which I shut the world out.
Then, once I sunk my battered fingers into a piece of this rotted reality and realized that I could mold it's shape...
...I was hooked.
And began the terraforming, I guess, began the series of mundanes tasks that would bring my dream worlds and worlds of physical pain and pleasure together.
The promise of fulfillment, where the physical niceties and emotional cries would come wrapped up cozily in proverbial flannel.
And I know I'm not going to lose myself entirely to the mundane, not so long as I've got Steven's fierce faith, Ben's occasional reminder that somewhere we've shared blood on the same battlefield, even The Marquis' hither and thither rambling compliment from the penned mouth of someone too proud for so base a thing.
Point being, the past couple of days I've been so drowned in epiphanies that I've scarce been able to breathe, let alone write them down in the rush to swallow them whole.
Kaffeine, I wish I could explain it to the way Marn somehow did when I was alone in France and terrified and friendless.
When she somehow managed to knock me down with how not alone I was...
Oh, I never meant to belittle your pain or how horribly hard it is, to face the yourself you discovered at some long-lost age every morning and feel the world come rushing back at you.
(If I could sleep my life away I might've considered it once.)
I just wish I could show you, and Marn, and all the dazzling people I've somehow managed to become surrounded with that IT'S NOT JUST YOU, every beautiful girl I've ever put my arms around would be stewing in the flesh-eating doubt that someday someone would discover their Great Flaw...
... there IS no great flaw. Nunh-unh. None. I wish I could tell you the reasons I have inside for saying this, but...
...let's leave it at: I've watched a man do worse and never understood the reasons behind it than you could ever do with an arsenal of automatic weapons and a blinding fury as bolstered amunition.
If someone doesn't talk to me, my first thought always is "did I say something wrong?" but that knee-jerk is fading and fast.
Because I know.
I know that it's hard to get the words out and if I didn't have my roster of Things I KNow Even A Stranger Will Laugh At, then I'd have shit-all to say too.
Want my list? You can have it. It's open-source...
He's a snob, and you're shy, and she thinks she's too good for you and FUCK I REMEMBER because it WAs just yesterday the last time i fell for that trap.
EVERYONE DOUBTS THEMSELVES, even John.
So please, please, please, even if it's just the rare occasion when the smoke from our cigarettes mingle, please let go and trust yourself. Because I trust you, and that's a big fucking deal.
You're different, and that's why you're beautiful.
You're different, and that's why it's SO FUCKING HARD.
You're different and that's why the nameless faceless masses who don't understand try to make you think it's your fault for not using their language.
It's their fault they haven't mastered their own fucking language, not yours for being an artist in expression.
Even if I'm just as dumb and somehow misunderstood every word that passed between us. I just wish to every spirit that's ever twisted one of my dreams, that I didn't.
And I don't just mean Kaffeine...
I wish you could see how beautiful you are when I look through you.
And in other news, the mundanities are dowrning me and I've spent the day with TheMigraineFromHell but I've got to get moving. Eric needs me to pick up his snake and the parents somehow didn't hurt as much yesterday with Maria's divine intervention, and work is terrifying but what the fuck else isn't new?
I know it hurts. And if I'd give everything up, the ski team, the fucking car, the glory of work, every smile I've ever spontaneously evoked... Every undeserved hug --
if I could make it all stop.
And I'm trying, and somehow I'm hurting more people in the process, but...
... we all need our goals, don't we?