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“Okay, here goes. Barbie’s idea. It’s like, that people… Well, that everybody has a secret world inside of them. I mean everybody. All of the people in the whole world — no matter how dull and boring they are on the outside. Inside them they’ve all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds… Not just one world. Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe.

“Isn’t that a weird thought?”

– Neil Gaiman, Sandman

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself,
restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.

…

-
-
(Then there’s more)

You’re not online. Why aren’t you? You should be. Please.
New Year’s is the bottom of my sine curve, for some reason — it shouldn’t be.
You know and I know, and that’s all that matters

Loneliness isn’t having nobody miss you when you die;
it’s not having anybody to miss when you do

I hate it when it rains; not because of the weather itself but because it freaks my (smaller) dog — he looks something like this — out so much. So when it started to pour today I ran downstairs, carried him up to my room and set him down at the foot of my bed before going to take a nap. I’d never seen him so happy before. Of course, my dad chased him out when he woke up, but I guess it was worth it.

Somewhere along the lines of growing up we lose our awesomeness and spend the rest of our lives trying to get it back.