i_can_see_it_from_the_way_we_move Harlequin I can see. I'm awake. I'm here and I'm seeing, completely lucid, in the rapture of this moment. I'm so sorry. Please, please understand that I'm tired of clinging to the edge of this pit by my sore finger tips, because every time I pull myself up with sore, exhausted muscles, I get a kick in the face that knocks me back down. You get this, right? You get that I'm tired realizing on New Year's Eve that I've wasted another year? I don't feel much anymore. I don't sleep much anymore. I don't eat much anymore. I don't smile much anymore. I won't let this drag on forever and ever. Hoping through inaction doesn't usually get me somewhere. I wish I was the sort of person that some events just happen to, but I don't think that it's like that anymore. Choices and decisions and actions are frightening, but staying here is worse. If I stay here, I'll turn into a shell - you see that, right? Empty and cold and completely unable to be comfy with anyone. My eyes won't sparkle blue in the summer and even you won't be able to make me smile. Please, please let me try for this. I won't leave you behind. I promise. Je t'aime, okay? 060103 what's it to you? who go blather from