You always thought that I created rules for the sake of rules. This land started with a set of rules. They were not for the sake of their own being but rather to push us farther in. Fuck the outside. No one cares, why should we? Who knows when color (maybe three) will bleed all over these pages and only we will know how compelling it is to look at. I ask because I no longer remember what the rule was about speaking words between lands. I know the one rule we both seemed fine with was never speaking of these words outside. This place is sacred, even if we want to piss in the streets (it is toxic by the way, the stain still lingers). Speaking of this outside would only infect this world with the world we long to rid ourselves of. But what of talking in hear what we spoke out there?
The noises, the voices, the things that haunt me, they follow me everywhere. In my dark corner of the world out there I can not tell you differently of what you seek or believe. Who am I to say you are wrong? But I sit there, waiting, wanting, knowing my edges have been dulled by the constant abuse I seem to impale myself upon daily, and while I would not call it hope (the word is overused and under estimated) I know that if I have one thought today rebelling against all others, that is one thought more than I had yesterday and yesterday I was ready to give it all up, at least in thought, my heart still had that small flicker to set a small across my face when the village burns. I wonder sometimes if the flicker is simply a scar that will not heal and my mind can no longer tell the difference or if it is only the start of a raging fire and my heart has merely grown ten times larger since this journey started and I simply do not know how to control the wheel any more.
I know not when you will check this place next, it has been a while for both of us. And that bothers me. But when you do, the one thought, the one that pisses everyone else off, maybe it was today, maybe tomorrow, that is what I call hope. I gave up asking long ago what would be my breaking point, when I would join the masses and follow the crowd. It took some time to realize that while I was asking I was sailing away from shore, all alone, waving goodbye to all I had passed. Far out at sea I no longer ask, it is me and the waves and once and a while a large ship off in the distance. We pass in the night and usually the captain misses me in my dingy, but on the rare occasion or two, we come up along side and find the time to watch the waves. When the time comes we say farewell and travel for another year.