Do not mistake me for my mask *

You just need to sit down

are these words. I read and read and read

and when I backtrack to look back on what I have written

this pain I feel all over again

and it seems the most exquisite

perfect emptiness that rings through my words.

It seems I cannot remember them flowing from my pen

onto page - as who could live

strangely enough, is something I can only do with a loved one who is a good match to me in terms of interest.

For someone like me who still gets scared of change, travel really changes a lot: the microbiome and therefore my digestion, my routine and my sleep schedule, a whole new environment with different culture, language, and manners to observe.

By myself, it just opens this gaping maw of loneliness. My first night in Japan alone, all I could do was cry. That feeling of being disconnected to anyone in my vicinity was... indescribable.

But even lonelier than that?

are all that stand between you and the abyss

that gapes and yawns beneath your feet

just waiting, just hurting, to claim you?

What happens when nothing more inspires you

no more of that blissful attachment to an idea

to an ideal, to beauty and grace or someone

that just contains all the perfection you lack?

A fixation could save your life

when without it, you cannot forget how empty

the sky is, how empty your life is, and how much

nothing is understood by the people around you

who profess to love and know you best.

What happens when nothing else in the world

holds anymore mystery and delight for you?

What happens when I weary of it all?

Can I lie down here and just say to the earth

that I am tired of hurting, tired of striving

and just tired of living in this world - can you

... I am obsessed with this.