Silence.

There has always been something in silence that seduced me. The quiet things somehow seem more moving, more potent. So much stays in the realm of the unsaid, and after everything else, still so much would remain when we could say all that we can.

I cannot say with how much longing I want to embrace the night. Capture in some way the secrets of my own heart. I seem to enjoy the solitary walks much more than most folks I know. True, it is something most people would find weird or laughable, but people only laugh at things they don't really understand. And people don't understand a lot of things. So many things change, so many things that still stay the same. So much we can have, so much that can be taken away. I try to think of all the things I have...I do, but somehow I just end up thinking of what I've lost. I guess that happens to once-upon-a-time-perfectionists. I remember so many faces, yours among them...though at times only vaguely. But the faces are there nonetheless... an endless sea of smiles made and some...taken away. I'm tired of asking for forgiveness, tired of figuring out what I have to do, tired of trying mostly...and always falling short. You'd think that for someone who's done this dance so many times before, I would have learned a thing or two. But if anything, the years have only made me colder and unfeeling. I'm not a good guy, but I want you to understand that any pain I have or would have given you or anyone else was never what I wanted. I want you to know, despite all the ways I no longer seem to care or no longer try, I'm always sorry about everything. I'm. Always. Sorry.

It isn't always about running away, if that's what you'd want to call it. Sometimes, it's a search...for something real. Do you remember what REAL feels like? It's like that time we sat outside on the ledge waiting for the sun to rise. I told you my secrets, and I almost understood yours. Or like riding the bike downhill or looking at everything from the plane for the first time. Or like the first time I fell in love. But it hardly feels like anything is real anymore. Like I said, things change. I've heard that perhaps it is something that artists suffer, the need to wander off someplace looking for something they cannot seem to find anywhere...or with anyone else. A search for some thing somehow more real than anything else...but without expression or form. I wonder if anyone could imagine how it can be so overwhelming, to be chasing a faceless dream, to have your hours consumed to find a way to put it in some palpable form and scream out loud the emotions it stirs. Or maybe it's not so faceless afterall. Maybe it's a search for something we've already lost. Or it's something we can never have but it's just RIGHT there. I wouldn't really know. And I hate not knowing and not having the answers.

Maybe I am running away. But whatever it is from...I know I can't get away. But I really have no desire to talk about it, people think it helps...but it doesn't. So I'll keep my mouth shut about all these things as much as I can. I'm not in need of saving, and I don't need anyones pity...the world has enough of it, and we all have enough of that for ourselves...

But somehow there is some solace in not having to say anything. Not having to try fitting things into a box...not having to worry about making people understand. There will always be silence.

Usually, I'd apologize for this kind of rambling...but not this time, and probably never again.