Darling, I forgive you… after all
Anything is better than to be alone.
And in the end, I guess I had to fall
Always find my place among the ashes.
I can’t hold on to me
Wonder what’s wrong with me
Stop being so pathetic. We all know this isn’t like you.
You haven’t always been one to get worked up on matters of the heart.
You are supposed to always choose cynicism because that’s what keeps you safe.
Be the cold-hearted man you were born to be.
Of course that’s not to say push people away, but stop this nonsense of being disappointed when they leave you. Everyone will always leave you. That’s just how it is. Stop caring.
Let’s go back to how things were, Tim, when you gripped ambition and pursued things greater than yourself and others. You don’t need others, just like no one has never really needed you.
You are of a different breed. You are alone, and that’s okay.
You’ve never valued the things other people value. You have no desire to entertain that nonsense.
In this time of weakness you drank of their cup; look where it got you. You found fleeting passion and pain.
Come back to your own mind.
We won’t leave you. We are you.
Purge from yourself those enamored thoughts of folly. Be rid of all affections towards others.
Indeed be prepared to do good. Be prepared to be useful.
But stop having expectations of having anything more with others.
You know we are right, Tim. You are 21 years in the making and you aren’t going to pretend you’re anyone else.
Non sum qualis eram.
You are not who you were, indeed.
You are better. Always improving.
And it’s not by your will that you improve; you know this full well.
You are more than yourself and you will succumb to that purpose. There is no purpose quite as grand.
So let’s go. Let’s seek out the adventures locked within your ambition.
We will not be weighed down by the actions of others.
Don’t mistake this message for narcissism or selfishness. This is merely a resolution to move on.
Both heroes and villains walk this path. They are one in the same. You’ll do well to remember this.
Take that damned, wretched heart and put it back in its box. Lock it away and never think of it again.
This isn’t over. You are not done.
Now get up.
Just spent the last 10 minutes screaming into my pillow, if that’s any indication of how
the last two months this whole year has been going.
I hate whining but there’s no one to talk to.
Amid the whispers clawing at my mind,
the infestation drags me down.
And deeper I must go.
Down, down, go down, go.
I am not well.
Can’t let go
Blur my view
I can still hear you whisper to me
Everytime I close my eyes
You’re staring back at me
I returned for my heart
only to find
the ghosts were still there
Buster Keaton on the boat returning from France, 1934