I’ve always wished people would stop trying to incarcerate me- I’m my own person, just begging to be released. I always had the power to do so I was just unsure how. If I tried to write
those around me would just ignore the signs which I would hastily leave them. On myriad occasions I’d given them signs of which an idiot could follow-yet they just refused to follow the trail. Out
of embarrassment or worry I wasn’t sure; but I knew from then on I was going to change- and I was going to make it harder for myself to trust as easy, and open up to those around me. I became less
dependent on people around me and kept myself to myself, it was the easiest option for me; but hate, an animosity built up inside of me which I could not control. I hated the people around me for
ignoring my signs, I told them time and time again how I felt- but they just refused to believe it. I refused to believe in revelation; refused to accept he was real to those around me. But how
ever hard I tried to understand, I just couldn’t grasp it. And from then on I was the me those around me are so familiar with now. Permutation soon became a familiar thing- I was
constantly changing who I was to fit in with those around me; but a part of me said that it didn’t feel right. Cynical as I may have been perceived, I was faithful to those around me, as they meant
a lot and pulled me through rough times. But I depended on my self more than anyone as my life began to spiral out of control, I was on a path which no one could pull me off- well that’s what it
She burst inside my life faster than I could blink. She was there to pick up the pieces that people had shattered in the first place. I felt inclined to trust her immediately- there was something
about her calm, cold blue eyes that provided the warmth I needed. She was there when hate ran through my veins- she extinguished it with her wise words of which I always bared to listen to- when
few others interested me. I only listened to what I wanted to hear- I was innocent and caring, yet contagious and mutinous. People around me soon became absorbed with my writing, it was my
pain and my life; but I let them read it, as long as they didn’t get too much of an insight on how I felt. As instantaneous as it was I enjoyed it- I liked the rush it provided for me, to see the
glee on peoples faces as they inhaled my words that slowly lifted off of the page towards them, ready to be captured. I didn’t want it to become too obvious to those around me how I felt- as I was
sure they wouldn’t understand at all, back then I thought everything I did was wrong and it was all due to end in a calamity. I began to think often malevolent thoughts, and my writing justified
their satanic roots to which I wanted no one to follow but me. I became my own person even more so, and as the months stroked past, I felt as if I was put on this earth to do one thing and that
thing was to write.
The only person that generally believed in me continued to encourage me even further- and before long I found myself waking up in the middle of the night; and smug look smeared across my face and a
whole story in my head waiting to be unearthed. I was completely absorbed in it and as my fast as my rage erupted- I found a way to extinguish it effectively. She stared at me with such pride in
her eyes, she gave me this gift, and she unearthed it again when I was so sure I couldn’t be helped. My heart had been shattered so many times by so many different people- every one I ever trusted
deserted me, to the point where I was reluctant to trust her even more so, but as my writing began to blossom I found her entering my life in a rapid descendancy. She brought me back down to earth;
as for many months I had inhabited a world which wasn’t mine to explore. A world of which I was inclined to believe in the underworld and demonic events- she made sure I exited that; I know now
that I don’t want to return.
It took me years to discover my inspiration, but when I did I never felt so alive; I was drenched in determination to make the one thing that made my life whole a career. I wanted to laugh at them
for not believing in me. When ever times got tough I found myself referring to her more than necessary, but I was so sure I needed her I made it my goal to keep her as close as possible. If I lost
her I’d loose the person I spent so long trying to find. She soon became the main focus of my writing- and before I could prevent it I was back in that world again; I was sure to loose her this
time, and I didn’t think I could take it. I couldn’t bare her leaving me too- she was my world, the person than kept me strong when I was so near to crumbling. But the fact of her leaving me
ignited a new person yet again- and my writing became even more prolific. Much to the enjoyment of those around me. I pulled a false smile now and again to let them know I was still present in the
flesh; even though it killed me to do so. Now as things are getting better and she is returning to her rightful place- I can’t help but thank her for her loyal service to me over the years. Making
me human again in a time where I was so sure I was going to die. My anger like a snow globe, easy to ignite and shake up, as I watched the snow become a whirl wind of rage around me, and she
settled it once more in the cloud of my mutiny. She wasn’t scared of me, she never gave up hope. She saw something in me I was sure. But now I want to hold her closer, I can’t let her drift away
and die, I’d do anything for her, like she did for me.
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