He walks into this place and finds friends without exerting any effort, he has people that seem to genuinely enjoy his company, and he has people he can trust. He goes to most of his classes and he has good grades. He has the things that he needs, but there is something that he wants.
All he wants is to know that the things that he sees are true. That when he is there, his eyes and mind don�t deceive him, the things that he sees are happening and he does not just see things because he wants to. He wants the sense of security and knowledge that there is nothing to worry about. He wants to know that he is not alone in the things he wants to know are real.
This sense of false security scares him, he sits and thinks about it constantly, he fights it and tells himself that everything is ok. He has to justify himself in conversations with other people. He talks to friends far away, and they tell him that they seem to think his ideas are not too far off, at least from their perspective. And yet he wonders, �What is it that I have to offer?� He sits and listens to his music, he watches his television, and he walks alone thinking.
He listens to music, a chord, a word, the bass line; something causes a tear to come to his eye. Something about the situation, something about the music makes it hurt so much. Something about knowing what the song really says, something about knowing what the lines are that haven�t been sung yet, pushes the tear onto his cheek. Something about sitting there listening to this song, right at this second is the reason why he doesn�t wipe it off his face. Something about it all, is the reason why he lets the tear run down his face and fall to the floor.
When he walks alone he walks with either a smile or he walks lost in his own maze of thoughts and doubts. He has no confidence; he knows that what he portrays as confidence is a fa�ade he gives for his insecurity. When he walks with a smile he knows that everything is going to be ok, he actually feels happy, and he knows deep down that his doubts are unfounded. He walks and knows these things, when he smiles. But it is those times when walking, he swims through a river of thoughts, he fights the currents of his emotions, he wants nothing than the ability to let go and cry. He thinks these things and they perpetuate themselves. He walks with a smile or he walks-swimming through it all.
He wants to say something, he wants to end this battle that he has with himself, he wants to say the truth of what he feels, but he is torn between two outcomes. He doesn�t know the possibilities of his actions. He can know no consequences. He worries about this as well, and they perpetuate themselves. He is swimming again, alone in his world.
He looks inside himself constantly, he sees everything that goes through his mind, as it enters, as it floats around, and if it leaves he sees that too. He has control over most of the things that go on inside of him. He can see what is happening to himself and he can almost describe it. Sometimes the only way he knows how is to simply stop and think and he puts himself under the microscope. See what is happening, watch the perpetuation continue, fight it and move on. Try to find a rock in the river, stand on it, take a breath, catch up, and catch a break.
He has moments and sometimes days, weeks, months, where the river is dry, he doesn�t have to swim, and he gets out of shape. His arms get weak, his oars slowly rot, and it is true to say that the river is never the same river you stepped in before. It changes slightly; it is the same idea, but not the same. Somehow, things are different, the rules changed, the situation changed, there is more of him in the water, the water is deeper, the rock that he once used to catch his breath, he now has to fight just to stay on it.
He is a metaphorical person; he sees things that no one sees. He wishes he knew how to explain it, he wishes that he could show them what it is that he can visualize. He knows who he really is, he knows what he is capable of, he knows there is something out there for him, but he can't put his finger on it, not even the tip of his finger can reach it. He knows that he can do one thing, he can say a couple of words, to find out if he is right, if the things that he thinks he sees are really there, or if they are a farce created by his mind and situation. All he has to do is ask a question, all he has to do is find out. And he can't do it, the outcome is too scary, the thought of the possibilities make him want to hide. He wishes it were easier. He wishes it were easier. There is nothing that he is capable of doing to relieve himself of the pain that he endures. The pain looks self-inflicted and yet it is not.
He believes in something that may not exist anymore. He believes in a possibility that may not be there. He knows in his heart that things could be that way, but they don�t exist. He knows the reality is there, he can feel it. He knows it is real. Everything about him says it is real, and then he sees something else and it all goes away, he suddenly finds himself swimming, wanting to simply drown and stop fighting, stop trying to find the truth.
