I Hear No Footsteps Approaching.

Dearest Fortress,

It’s sad how no one approaches your solid walls - walls whose solid stand is proof of their long existence. No one ever dares to give you even the slightest gentle push. They see you from afar, and plot to shatter you. And when they smell the enigma you radiate, they hover and try to break you, to see what’s inside. Then, when all fails, they turn and look for something more feasible.

What happened to the thrill of being on unfamiliar ground?

Whatever happened to challenging that inner security shell, some work a lifetime to build?

All those people out there, yet I hear no footsteps.

I find it sadder that out of all those people, most of them are a waste of space. People have become so common that you can substitute one for the other.

What happened to that sense of individualism?
What happened to being your own self?
What happened to having your own walls?

People pale every hour, fortress: they become hollow blocks of solidity. They integrate themselves into the masses, removing all their walls, but forget that they are an individual unit within these masses.
But you fortress, stand alone, away from the crowd.

It leaves me engulfed in sadness - all these masses.
It leaves me craving something original.
It leaves me longing to savor something new and refreshing.
Something to take away this ever tedious aftertaste.

Yet again, I feel it’s just me that’s craving. The rest seem happy enough with the replicated commonness out there.
I understand it’s much easier to handle ‘normal’.
It’s much easier to understand ‘normal’.
Because ‘normal’ is ‘normal’, and will always be.
But ‘normal’ is predictably dull.
It’s seamlessly replaceable.
There is little to lose, and nothing to gain with ‘normal’.

But you’re not normal, fortress.

And I am forever your captive. For I built you, strong and standing still, and then locked myself deep within.
Sometimes I wonder if I was right to make you look so intimidating, that you drive everything away. But when despair hits, and you absorb it all, I know I need you just as you are
Sometimes I wonder if I was right to lock myself in, and not just wait by the door, for someone to knock. But when I see rocks flying at your windows, I know that I need to stay deep inside.
Sometimes I wonder what it would sound like if someone ever knocked on the door?
Or maybe climbed the windows, and crawled inside?

I hear no footsteps approaching, fortress.
None have approached in a long time.

And that leaves me sad.
Why does no one approach, fortress?

If you think you can answer any of the questions above, please do!

To you, Self.

A while I know. Swamped, I swear :(

For the muse in an onesie: Yes, inspiration did hit at that moment :P and,

Chubby cheeks <3:> Msn remains better!


Dearest self,

Here I am, again.

Just me.

The present you.

In this very defining moment.

I write to all of you self.

From this defining moment.

To that past ‘you’, to the present ‘you’, and to the enigmatic future ‘you’.

I write to you all.

United in this moment, yet set apart in the infinite wave of time.

To all of you I write this-

It is my most profound wish for me to meet you Self. Not this present ‘you’ that I know, but all of you. You self, are segmented across time, and never whole for me to see. Could you try Self, time set aside, to give me just a glimpse of your entirety: a complete converged image, with all details in the correct place?

Is it too much to ask, to see you all- past, present and future? It seems so.

And that leaves me here to contemplate and question the reality of things, and the outcomes such realities trigger.

It is at this point in my contemplations that I feel the need to apologize to you Self.

I’m sorry that at times you were shunned and overruled. Those were the times where I let superficial want take over, while your voice forever muted.

I’m sorry for all the unnecessary internal wounds, you now bear as scars.

I’m sorry for my disorientated states, where I left you an unfamiliar observer of my whirling.

I’m sorry, the list is so long, that I cannot seem to recall all the things I should be sorry for.

Sad, isn’t self, being reduced to this?

No? You don’t think so. Well, I do.

But I promise you, I have learned much from those failings.

I learned to love you more than all.

I learned that you are all.

And I’m just sorry it took me this long to come to realize such.

Self, there comes a point in time, where insanity borders, and with its doubts baffles the mind. And at those times, it’s rather easy to erase limits, drop any borders and let loose.

What’s the worst that could happen, Self?

My soul would suffocate and die?

No, it would eventually learn to feed off the chaos, and the world would continue spinning its same cycle.

And then there are points in time, where reality hits at full force, and all comes to a nerve-wracking halt. The facts are all spewed like the whips of a leather lash. And denial becomes an ever taunting sin.

It’s then that your importance grows self.

It’s then where you come to find me, and push me forward, out of the void and into the lucid clearing.

Thank you Self, for always being there.

Every time, anytime and all the time.

Because as I look around, I see no one here but you, Self.

The rest are all residents of discontinuous scenery.

All but you, Self.

You have my endless love and gratitude, Self.

I am forever yours.