I have to believe everything will be alright... I need to believe it. I need to believe it despite my growing fear, despite this most unbearable fear of failure, of numbness, of living-death. All those who look at me the way they look have no idea what it means to be inside my head, they have no idea what it is to live as a spider in a web, working every detail, loving every detail, hating everything. They have no idea what it is to ask, and breathe as you struggle to find an answer, which always comes lacking, which never really comes, which fools you into believing you have caught the perfect fly. You are nothing, yet your brain is everything. He's everywhere, he's in all things. You have no idea how much fucking courage it takes to face everyone knowing you probably look like an alien, with your watery eyes, and your nervousness, your trembling hands and endless questions. You are only fascinating up on the stage, or writing some pretty poem. You aren't fascinating when you're face to face with death, with despair, wrapped in invisible silver linings you insist to believe are there.

I am writing this to myself, if that isn't obvious already. Because I need to understand that I might perhaps never be understood, but I'm loved, and that's all that really matters.