I try to live my real life as secretly as possible.

The truth behind all things is the hardest thing to really hold. I pretend to be coherently crazy, under a persona I invented for myself. I've held original thought somewhere buried in me, letting each wave of the world batter me while I maintain, until I can speak my peace. It's said that you must have the suspension of belief to endure a play or movie, and that one has to give somebody the benefit of doubt before they can judge them. I feel like a heretic unto myself, taking everything in, despite how it feels. I feel the real truth tug at the back of my mind like guilt would on your gut...

That being said, not everything I've learned has been false. There are true thinkers and innovators always prepared to lead the front and find their own Truth, not prepared to think inside the box or outside of it, but to build a better theory in order to find a lost cat.

I respect those people the most.

There are believers and followers, and I can't fault them for it being their decision, not everyone wants to lead. I will look down on those, however, who call themselves a believer of any sense who puts down others to serve themselves or their belief.

Keep in mind, all is fair in love and war, as long as you're truly fighting for it. Sometimes people used to have entire constellations named after them. I could only hope to have my tombstone have a single word that is universally as acknowledged or understood as sets of distant galaxies and stars.

I feel like I rarely write fluff, and when I do, it's almost too much to sound true and yet is.

I wonder what I've done to myself. I feel like a blindfolded escape artist with tied, handcuffed, and padlocked hands who's forgotten all of his tricks.

And then got amnesia.

And in a world of people who think they know who they are, it only compounds my confusion.

It's just a matter of time until I turn all the locks.