Who are you? I didn't paint you, yet the brush is in my hand. I couldn't warn you, and now it's too late.
Born from flesh. Exist as flesh. Make no mark. Gone. Nothing remains.
The dam has broken, but not the one of the eyes; it is the one of the heart, of the soul, of the mind. The thoughts flow endlessly and without direction, yet still cling to the beaten path of the buried truth.
The cherry blossoms are a thing to be celebrated with family and friends and food and laughter, and yet, I think I want to be alone this year. I want to sit and sip beneath the trees in reverent silence and let myself see only what She wants me to see.
The doctor scribbled away on his clipboard: anxiety, mental health unstable, irritable, illogical, blah blah blah... Prescription: placebo.
I have been lost for so long in the haze of teenage angst that one might think that I don't even know how to function in society anymore. Surprise; I am still a functional human being with my petty human desires and minuscule human values and tedious human dreams of grandeur.
Sensory overload, but it feels incredible. I can see everything and I can hear all. Colours bloom intermittently and unceasingly and instantly. Music sounds and resounds at a speed with which no sound and all sound can be heard.