And honestly...

I don't know why I'm here. If it's to write truth or lies. If I'm supposed to make believe or make fun.

If possibilities end at the door out in the garden.

If truth is only ever possible when everything is documented, does that make every word I write a lie?

If I hadn't seen her in days, only to see her in skirts walking out of the dining hall, is that a sign? Or a reminder?

If another week has run it's course am I closer to resolution or absolution?

If I can hear his voice, but I dream about someone else, does that make me a traitor to my country or myself?

If I could really be anyone for an entire day, would I want to be dead? Or am I just saying that?

And if I meant it, could I come back?

If time was running out, would I go to M and talk to her, or would I opt to take a plan into Canada and say goodbye?

I can write it without crying. I can see H&G, L&N, K&W, M&T--all pairs without sadness. Only minor aches and pain, and by now those have physical explanations.

Time is running out and I don't have the world down as well as I ought to. My reading for Tuesday will be done before Monday, but there's an emptiness inside asking if I'm really living or just attempting to exist. I want to be elsewhere. I want to be elsewhere. To learn something different. Something new.

He told me to shake up life when it got stale. I've always been afraid to. I let other make the waves when I've already got my sea legs. But I guess I am a swimmer, and jumping headfirst into waves can't kill me.

Only I can do that, when the water's a metaphor for thought.

Today I warned the world that only true delinquents always dress nicely. That the man in the top hat and bow tie is more likely to walk out of the store with an extra knife. That maybe this child wants to know a bit more about the wild side, so she changes into a gentle-looking soul and cusses out the world while holding a knife to its throat.

I'm my only savior, and I'm my only danger. I just need to remember it. Appreciate it. Learn it. Love it, even.

But that's a maybe. Because maybe love is too touch a pill to swallow right now. Take people one at a time, slow ways mentally.

Tiny steps, baby steps, towards something new. The day starts here.