Behind a smile.

The dark still waits, though. So deep that it nearly swallowed me whole. Future balanced on a knife's edge, teetering and gleaming. A simple movement, exchanging time for release. I'm only here now because of the last few tethers I could still hold in the dark, and they drew me back towards twilight.

Chemicals, concoctions, synthetics that bring artifical light to unnatural dark. A shield made of small hopes, small dreams. A sword of flickering feelings of resolve, an edge of my remaining will.

National Novel Writing Month. Something I did maybe five years ago before leaving home... and now I’m doing it again.

I never know how to speak for myself. I'm too afraid to know how people will take it. I always look for the right answer, the perfect phrase to make sure everything turns out right for everyone. Maybe that's why writing always appealed to me, the eraser and the backspace always allowing me a second chance.

But life doesn't work like that. Words can't be taken back. You don't get a redo. Words spoken to another will make an impact, and there's nothing you can do once they're out.

And it hurts me to think about hurting those around me. So I don't say anything.

But it hurts them anyway. I know it does. When they pour their hearts out to you and you don't say anything, it hurts them. I know. But I also know that the wrong words will hurt them too.

And the circle continues. The spiral descends. And all I know doesn't change the fact that I'm hurting them.