As I sit, I contemplate the many things I could put in my system. Yet, I haven’t done nothing except sit here and write. I struggle to keep my eyes open, doing my best to ignore the cold air hitting me. Once again I’m pondering narcotics, the easy way out, the legal way out. I have two hours before my flight back to what I do not call home but what I consider it to be. I ask myself what was it that made me and if it hadn’t would there be a slither of me in the void we call existence. I’d hope people could understand me. I hope I can understand them without trying, without an immediate disdain. A sorry taste in my mouth after they demonstrate a reflection of who they are or should I say who I am. No, I’m not high yet, just exhausted. I’m questioning whether or not that drags me closer to the other side. To the side where things just happen no matter how bizarre and leave me to awaken with fat question mark on my head.
I hope you are your own role model and you at least take some time to look in the mirror and say thank you. The realization that you might never fully know you. Wait! what does that mean? is that a hint that there is two of me.. the self and I? Isn’t that true just when you thought you knew who you were you learn something new about your character and so the play continues and so does the juicy drama of your own created soap opera.