From what I can gather, you want two extremely different things. Two things that cannot possibly peacably coexist. You're chasing butterflies you will never catch, and it's beautiful, and sad. I can't interfere. You'll fall on your own, and I'll help you up, but I won't hold you back. Not ever. I'd rather see you smile, hoping desperately that you're not too far behind those fragile perfect wings.

Oh, if I could transpose these brainwaves, I'd give you every thought in chords and verses. If I could, I'd be a mirror. I'd be a lioness. I'd live inside a daffodil.

Why does this happen? Why do these things pile up, these meandering, questing philosophies, this useless data? Why don't we talk? I never have conversations anymore. There's all this nostalgia that hangs like dust and cobwebs over my social skills, and I'm too upset to sweep it away. Why can't I let go? Why can't I forget? Why this constant remembering? I can never tear myself away; the thoughts eat at me. I'm in an acid bath that dissolves reaction time slowly but completely. Soon I'll be so aloof I won't notice myself. I already trip over nothing and bump into walls because I'm too immersed in the concepts and theories that evolve in my head.

And these nightmares.

They make me feel like a stranger when I wake up.