I sit in a silence of familiarity, a noticeable pattern. When every piece of your life that consumes you starts to make more noise than you initially asked for, your mind begins a filter system, a sort of permanent in-ear headphones. You begin to train yourself to sit without panic in broad view of all things tempting in a spot of silence. Monotonous hours in each day, days which were dreaded for, become a warm blanket of bliss to encapsulate yourself in and simply… wait away the time, good or bad.
There is no outside help for me. Realistically, sure there is. I’m just not so certain I am feeling present in this reality, or any I’d ever want to consider true enough to endure. You don’t ever need to cry, don’t bother shedding a tear, though we are becoming empty and so unlike what we used to be, we still remain strong if not stubborn. This can’t help when one is so reluctant to admit personal defeat. There in lays the human elements, the lovers will and the fighters courage. With everything that I have put myself through, as of late and even earlier on, I demand a small yet charming stage be built for my admittance of defeat, be it so little of a heart ache as it is. The people must always have that desire for a spectacle, a fiasco of a tale, for there is no greater story telling than that of gossiping. From the king of gossip himself, of course. You trust me, right?
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