Sure, I know their world like the back of my hand. I know the placements of their scars, the causes behind each mark, and I know the reasons behind their actions. I know who they love most and the things they'd give to keep them.
But I am so thoroughly afraid to be the only keeper of this knowledge. One day, I won't be the only one and the context creatives won't be the only souls to hear my ramblings. It's just that before that time there's almost this ache to be heard—and I do realize it's purely human to want to be known and seen and heard. I'm just beginning to think it's something beyond me and more in 'them' that wants to be out here where I am. Or, maybe, this is just the sort of ambition and desperation that drove so many tragic heroes off a cliff.
sent from my android now.
pilfering's more suited to Thursdays, I think.
