And again.
Makes me feel... something. So much undone, so much rediscovered, so close and so far. I cannot think to know what it actually is. So much as it is empty, it is full. It is dynamic, changing, always. Static in that, yet nicely flowing. To each peak, a valley, to each ocean, a desert. Always the blue sky, always the green grass, and it doesn't stop. Storms, earthquakes, tempests, from the sky and fire from the earth. I want, for there to be something for me. I want to be able to blame the physical as much as I can the ethereal. I want not to have to blame. But, as I've derived, the state of "not fair" keeps such absolvement at a distance. I like the idea of balance. I'd like to think that, somewhere in this world, is... whatever it is. I can't lie, I can't help but think I found it. Them. And you know, of all good things in time, I'm a believer. I'm a to-be example thereof, or so I'd like to think. Yet upon telling others to accept, I'm prone to fall back. I myself cannot accept, therefore, I am invalid. I put so much effort into one thing, an obsession. One concept. I invest myself with as much of myself as possible, myself being... a resource? A currency encompassing most of the human soul? Can I afford that much? More, have I already spent that much? She may not realize it, but she is now the majority shareholder of my essence, that is, everything I think and feel. She has not asked for this, and hence I will never hold her to answer. I have done this myself. Overblown, outdone, dramatic, I am ashamed. I will undoubtedly "look back" as I have before and say not to take myself so seriously. Every thought is not an epiphany, as love is not the result of such. I at least know that this time, there is another side to it. Not a hollow "no," no, nor a preemptive "no,"; just: I will not confront. I can see there are things in her life, and that she does not need nor want me as a part of it, yet, if ever. It will not be brought up, directly, and will continue to live as a ghost of an issue, leaving a guess to be blind, but accurate. Perhaps shots to ricochet in the pool, the lack of any defined substance, bouncing aimlessly until they hit, whatever they find, and call it their mark. Changing issues, names, and faces, as they're not what matters at this point. The temporal has been defined as well as can be, and leaves as much possible as impossible, as much light as dark. This, and this, is my balance. I wish not to be gray, nor hollow. It is, simply, for me to exist, so as there might be a result, one way or another. To survive, be it prosperous or no, I have determined is to conquer. A ball in the court of fate, bouncing until stilled by unseen hands, working the darkness or the light as so seen fit, determinate only to the outcome of a situation; never determinate of me.