The ink in my pen has dried up. I have no words to describe this strange reality. I cannot wrap my secrets in esoteric verse anymore. Where can I hide in a room of mirrors?
I'm living my choices, of honesty and innocence. I'm living my philosophies, some hypotheses I hurl out the window, others, I set in stone.
I willingly handed over the reins I hitherto held on so dearly to. I readily became a powerless blade of grass, swaying to the whims of the wind, bending to the might of the rain, blending with the miscellany of the world.
I seek not to be special. I seek not the smallest of favors. All I want is a shield from the distant hopelessness that eyes me with threatening glee.
I was reborn today in youthful exuberance. But I relegated myself to a silent crucible to wait and watch life unfold. Stretching the tendons of my patience and will, an acid test of my hope.
