My life and imagination. For me, they were the same thing.
I'm not any less of a person or what I can imagine to be me around you.
It's just I need to get a way some how.
I am NOT an escapist like I say.
No more stars or dreams and hopes in my head no more.
I want me.
Because I am drowned in myself without actually knowing who that is.
Is that some kind of sick torture?
You, I know who you are. Every speck of you is familiar.
But the mess of me I can't even travel through without getting very lost.
Can there be anything left?
It's still so quiet.
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