At last, I have loved the difficult.

Tagore.

As long as I feel the need to fill out my loneliness with somebody else, there will be something terribly wrong with me. I must be capable to be happy by being myself. There are three nature of relationships that I experience in the universe; the one between I and the nature, I and other humans, and finally, the most important, I and my own self. It is the last one that defines me, and manifests me into my own truth. There is no God, no perfect partner, or no material thing that can bring me happiness.

Looking inside me, myself. Touch my own insanity, my loneliness, my despair, my passion, my place in the Universe. They are my friend. My true friend. Nothing else exist outside them. Nothing ever will.

Elephant on my chest. Time is slower, I feel like swimming into thick syrup. Black anchor tied to my feet. I am drowning. Inside me, something is throbbing, trembling.

What is it? I ask in the mirror.

This is you, replies an old man.

For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was

found,

His who had given me life - O father ! O God ! was it

well? -

mangled, and flatten'd, and crush'd, and dinted

into the ground:

There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell.

- Tennyson.

Pain, terrible pain in the head. Invisible, dragging. Tiny, miniscule muscles and tendons stretching, torturing themselves. I need to live. Or leave?

The outsiders are gathering.

The outsiders are gathering....

Aw hell what the fuck is this? Reality seems kinda fuzzy this days, there's an elephant on my chest. Summer is the worst for me, and I can't deal with winter. I am crying inside. I need somebody, like a fish needs water to survive. but I can't. How much further I can go on? After sacrificing so much. the only thing left is my blood. perhaps the end is nearer than I thought.

Yet must I think less wildly: - I have thought

Too long and darkly, till my brain became,

In its own eddy boiling and overwrought,

A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame:

And thus, untaught in my youth my heart to tame,

My springs of life were poison'd.

Byron