Written March 05, 2006

You're standing in the corner of a dark room. Why? Why are you hiding? What have you done that is so horrible, so unforgivable, that you lock it away, you punish yourself. Maybe you think that if you let it out, someone else will punish you. Does that scare you? Well don't run to far just yet. Whatever punishment the world may have assigned to your crime will not beat the punishment that you burden yourself with. You're afraid? Yes, I see it plainly now. But you can't run from yourself, can you? Not that it hasn't been tried. All those people you meet, who are doing some soul-searching, who are "finding themselves"? They aren't looking for themselves. They're running away. Running away and fooling themselves, leaving themselves behind to find someone new, with new games, new lies. New demons. They stop running once they discover that all they've found is a new shell of the old self.
But you're not running. That's good. And yet you look ashamed... Let me guess. You are ashamed of who you have become, and although you haven't yet, you want to run. The thought of running, it comforts you, the way the most outrageous dreams always do. That sounds right, you say. But you're eyes betray you. Because you are not ashamed to run. Running is in your genes, in your bloodline. You know the sound, the taste, and whats more, you know the false sense of security that will eventually leave you breathless. No, you are not ashamed because you wish to run, you are ashamed because you want to stay and yet you don't know how. No one ever taught you to stand, to take responsability, and to fix things, did they? No. They don't. They never will. They will lead you blindly down the road, they will not guard your footsteps, they will not warn you of the road ahead. They call out to you, laughing as you stumble, staying just out of reach when you fall. And still you follow after them, because it is the only path you have ever known, and no one has ever turned back before.
But you're here now. That's good. At least you know the road is wrong.
Help you? Me? No. No, I can't. I can't help you because I am with them, I have been with them all along, beguiling you and twisting all that you hold dear. If I wanted to, and I do want to, I would help you. But I know little enough about the right path; only that somewhere beyond the reality that you now perceive, it is there, and it waits to be found.
You look horrified. You are talking to the enemy, and it frightens you. But you don't understand. You don't understand how alike we are, how much we have in common. Because I am on the same road as you, I walk blindly, I stumble and reach out and grasp the open air, the same way that you do. I bear you no ill will, not in the least. I am merely following the only path that I know, the path I have always known.
I am lost. I despair. I panic, and I run until I trip again and fall, and I get back up only to fall again. I cry out, and no one answers. I see the light, but the tunnel never seems to end. I give up, I let go, but before I can turn away, the light is back, the hope returns, I continue on. A vicious cycle.
Don't bother to mask your emotions. Not now. I've already seen the recognition in your eyes. I know what you will ask. What else do we have in common? And to that question, I can only smile sadly.
You see it now. You are just like me. I am just like them. You are like them too, you are them. You always have been them. You are your own enemy, yet you don't even know your own name.

So, who are you? If I know, maybe I can save you. We could save each other. Not that I have all the answers. I have few enough. But if you would take my hand, I would at least be glad for the company of a moment. We may save each other, maybe the world. Or we could save no one. But I would rather go the road with you than suffer alone. Grant me that respite, at least.