If I told you I cry most days when I think of you. Not because I miss you, which I do, but because you are the only person who can see write through me and that is not easy. I am dense. I know it is of little consolation, but the mere fact I am here, I hope you are not too far behind, is of the right direction. I am drowning. Under water and swallowing at ever gasp for air. I can not tread much longer. I need something to hold onto. I look to the passing of time as just another moment in the day. 20 years have gone by and nothing has changed, yet all is unfamiliar. Have I told you that I want to cry. Not tears of pain, or sorrow, just tears. Overcome tears. But I don’t I refuse to let it out. I must focus it and funnel my rage, my madness, my sadness. I do not know who I am most days and I hate myself for trying to figure it out. If I just leave well enough along I will be fine tomorrow. Won’t I. I saw my first post a few minutes ago. The truth is the rules kind of freaked me out too. I see why you hesitated from accepting them. They were much too restrictive. I thought they were fun at the time. I hate rules. But it is funny, the more i read you, the more i sound like you. The more I read me, the more you sound like me. What became of us. Is the next turn the right turn or the wrong turn.