?

I make up these long and drawn-out ideas of how beautiful my future could be, a world not so far from my eager finger tips. A dream that is closer than the bed sheets and thick walls to confine. And maybe my life will shine brighter, letting all the pain and angst drain away. I could just feel it... Almost within reach. I need that.
But it takes only a linguring thought to provoke the madness. I dont want that soul-sucking fever of an idea, I just want "me". I want to be able to live with the wholesome idea of balance and control...
So I fight. And I wait. And I distract. And I move on. And I deal. And I control. And I manage.
Maybe one day I wont have to hide and pretend my feelings. Maybe I will be strong enough. And maybe I wont have to bother writing about it.

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