Those eyes make me feel like a pierced veil. 

Stifling. Intriguing, but still stifling. 

My life is full of unrealistic expectations. 

And in the words of strangers, I've recovered something I thought was long lost. 

New is good. New is distracting. New never lived up to the hype. 

I feel this great big lonely swimming in an empty sea where my heart and guts should be. I believe it's both to do with a fixation on an idea and the spiral toward obsession, however brief. This is complicated to me, to want something you know nothing about and not be able to define the parameters of your desire. Is living in fantasy that much more interesting than plainly breathing air? The complexity of existence in itself should be wowing enough to keep me dumbfounded throughout the day without adding my own intangible complications to the layer cake of melancholy I've been baking for weeks now. 

And why do I choose to say the things I say the way I do? I don't care to sound smart, I just don't want to be bored with my vocabulary but I'll still repeat "on fleek" like I'm suffering from Tourette's. 

My brain is on fire and I don't know if it's the caffeine or if it's been too long since I held a pen in my hand and let it purge through that rusted faucet I call creativity. 

Throttle down, cowboy. 

Then I think about you, Braille-Reader, out there. I wonder if you know I exist yet. If you ever will. Will we meet or will I build you up into this amazing fiction that real life will never know how to recreate? But that's all I have, isn't it? The idea of you. I've thought I knew you a thousand times over, but the closer I feel I am to you, the further away you are and the less I know from the idea of you. Whatever the truth of it is, I hope you sleep well tonight, while my brain burns piecing you together only to deconstruct myself in your wake, knowing I'll never be good enough. 

Goodnight. 

I found you in my thoughts tonight, Braille-Reader. I wonder how you feel when all your plans fall through and disappointment finds you before the night's really begun. Maybe in the next few years it'll happen to you, but right now - I think you're still always surrounded by people who admire you. That's what you're used to. Either way, I'm curious how the cogs inside you turn. I'd love to watch them move behind your eyes just once as the sentiment connects with the sentences just before you blow your veil of smoke across the faces of strangers.