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Can we have it as it was again? When we could speak without 20,000 others listening in? What happens now will forever sculpt itself, but in this modern world of open-endedness I start to worry that I'm not fit. I'm too good at keeping it in when I should be sharing and caring about the others who wish to befriend me in these times, though I find it so difficult just to not despise them and all that they're living for. Is it truthful that what you see's what you get or is there something beyond in the quantum reflection that keeps us together when we are apart, like the pain that I feel with each beat of my heart when I see that you live beyond me in the world, as a girl who infers nothing more than a swirling complexion which dashes my senses to nothing; to be a man once is to never be something. What could I be, or what am I, or what does that mean truly? Is it something clean, or something nice, or something just unruly? I never felt this way before I leapt from the world with no fear. It's unfortunate for me that average people's don't pass through the gates of this raw heel smashing against the glass and crackling it into tiny particles of nothing ever. Now I spend time crafting words to hold myself apart from those who once stood beside me. It's a battle, but the war's been won, and there's only one way to survive through it. And honestly, I can't say that I'll do it, truthfully, because I know too much to sit and feast in the presence of Omelas.