it's not like i'm lying when i say these things. it's not like i fabricated this whole mess just for my enjoyment. it's not like that.

it's just that my storytelling is too good. i can fill the gaps with so much possibility and likelihood that everything looks different, everything shifts and changes to facilitate a more noteworthy end. i am writing every day like it's a soap, and i'm directing every one of you to that jagged conclusion. but there are not enough flaws, there is not enough distance between perspective a and person b. there is not enough. the spectrum has not been covered. you are all too close, too same, too real to meet the assigned standards.

so i look past it. i look past what you're saying and doing and i grope for what you would rather be saying and doing. i divine it and i fall for it. i am smitten with your taboos, with your restraint. you have me in full, you have my attention and i'm believing it. i believe it. it's authentic and genuine - it means something. it means something more than all this presentation and small-talk bullshit. it means something.

that's where i live. i live in my head with the real you. i marry reality and alternate reality and watch it all unfold, so incredibly staged as to appear spontaneous. this is how an insomniac stays sane. this is why i think things of people that are at once dead accurate and wholly disappointing. i will never stop, i will never alter. this is how it is. and one day i will find the characters i need; the pure, ruined cast that can hook in to my visions and live them out without trying. the sky will split like flesh. the earth will burn and sing. this is my revelation.