Somewhere.

My brother found me earlier this year.

I was in the darkest corner of my own mind, hiding from the world. I was sorely tempted to be left there, but he knew I'd die sooner than the universe wanted me to if I had. He told me we were still needed. My birthday is coming up, and with it, the shadow of my potential demise. Every birthday I've had for the past several years has been increasingly traumatic, leaving me a distraught crying mess somewhere. I don't know what it is that causes it, but it's something that resembles a reality check, where I look back upon my entire life and see how happy I am with how far I've come.

For some reason, I never feel like I've managed to do anything at all.

This year I hope is different. I am no different from last year, but I hope that my actions will reflect upon myself much better, and will leave me with my barely sustained state of contentment. Otherwise, I might kill myself. I say that because I know that I won't, even if in reality every year I get closer to just letting everything go in such a fashion that the only possible result is I burn out and die young. But every year, I hold on to some small spark of hope that life will reward me for my perseverance, my actions with good intent, my kind demeanor, and the virtues that have held my darkest self at bay for so long.

It hasn't yet. But I suppose the only aspect of hope is that it can only be expected to be fulfilled, nothing less, nothing more.

I am beyond the reach of anyone now. My brother has died a tragic death indirectly at the hands of humanity, his only fault that he tried his best to find good in them, and was inexorably yet needlessly punished for it. I tried to tell him, but he could do no less than what he strove for, for that was his true nature. He could do nothing but believe in the spirit of humanity, because to doubt anyone else was to doubt himself. I cried once for him, and once more for humanity, because they know not what they lost in their ignorance. It could be said his words left weight with me, but they hold no influence over me, for it is my nature to doubt humanity. One day I will take on his hope, but until then, I can only carry a saddened gait that knows no aspiration.

I cannot believe in love. This is because I cannot bring myself any longer to believe in another person as I've seen no-one else is capable of believing in me. I gave myself to the fire only to burn in it foolishly.

I didn't quit smoking, drinking, or venturing into that 'other' world to forget the normal reality, because I am an escapist in half my heart. I feel if I didn't run, I'd be swallowed whole by the maw and pressures of the real world. It is a far too ugly truth to face, and though I know it, I cannot abide by it 'til comes time I am able to change it. Though secretly I fear I never will be able to.

For majority of this year I have slept, and let my now dead brother reign over our affairs, but now I know that to be a mistake. I thought there might be some good left in the heart of man, that I no longer had a need for that dark corner of the mind, but I was wrong. The truth needs to be told, no matter how ugly.

I will not die before my time, because another time is coming, and it is one that requires me to be present and ready. I am a pessimist, but it allows me to account for every wrong turn taken. The universe still needs me to right it, because no-one can work a miracle like a magician.