Living together but not. Coexisting in the same world. Being a family in just the name. Alone together, it’s all the same.

Two different lives in the same home. One might be happy while one is alone. Saying we need to get out of this town. Needing action soon or we might drown.

Choosing together but drifting apart. Slowly losing what started it all. Floating on the cracked solid ground. See what needs fixing, look around.

Being lonely is one thing. Being alone is another. It seems this is love’s trademark. Walking alone in the dark.

In general, people remember the good things once you die. They remember that you liked donuts and would go every Friday to get s donut at the local bakery. That you loved cars growing up and could name any make and model you saw.

What they don’t remember are the bad things. The things they don’t want to or maybe shouldn’t remember. The fact that you had a drug addiction or maybe that you punched a guy once (but he deserved it). Maybe they don’t remember that you always slept in because your nights were filled with gambling.

When I died, my shadow decided they would take over. Everything that was good and bright and happy in my life disappeared. No memory of my track meets in high school, the family movie nights, or amazing cooking skills (that I got from my mom).

The only thing people remembered was that I wasn’t who everyone thought I was.

The connections we make Some shallow and some deep. The ones we’re born with and the ones we choose. Weaving a complex web of emotion and knowledge. Some forgotten and some nurtured.

The connections we make Can become more than we thought they would. Taking time and effort. Meaningful or meaningless. Some scratching the surface of the expanse below.

The connections we make Can follow us through our lives. Meeting someone new at 15. Forgetting for years until recently. But now only a shadow of the past.

The connections we make Or sometime break. The regret and heartache. Or the fury. The separation for the better.

The connections we make Forever knowing the soul behind the mask. The roots that go deep. Though you are nit able to see them from the surface. A network of emotional webbing.

The connections we make Soul to soul. Making the human experience more meaningful. Companions on the journey. Our connections.

I have something to say. Though im not sure how I will. I’ve been told I need to tell someone. Thought I am not sure why.

It’s a secret I’ve kept a long time. Something I’ve shoved deep down. Deep inside myself. Where no one will find it.

It’s a little dark and twisty. Some may not like what they find. Down the spiral staircase. To this secret of mine.

It’s at least ten thousand steps. If you dare to decend them. Just remember this one thing. You’ll have to climb back up.

Back up from the pit of despair. The chaos and commotion down below. The shadows and whispers. They’ll cling to you.

So do you dare to go down? And search for the secret? To pry it from me? And live with the truth?

I will guide you. But not really. I’ll tell you how to get there. You’ll have to do the rest.

Go down that spiral staircase. Bring back what you find. Don’t bring it into the light. Keep it hidden inside.

I’m sorry I sent you down there. I couldn’t tell you the truth. I had to show you what I meant. Why I keep it down there.

The monster you saw. Terrifying and bloodthirsty. He can’t be contained. Only bargained with.

The monster deep down. Brooding and deceitful. I keep him down there. Only because I am scared.

Scared of what he will do. If he ascends those stairs. He is terrifying to me too. Only because the monster is me.

She’s always strived for perfection. Turning in assignments over and over again until she gets a perfect score. Good enough is never good enough.

Her social life dwindles until it is Jin existent because no relationship will ever be perfect. Nothing is like it is in the movies. No best friends since kindergarten. No small town where everyone knows everyone.

No. She’s worked her whole life for that kind of perfectness but it will never be a reality. At least not on the inside.

On the outside she has a good life. A great little family in a perfect town full of perfect people. That’s what’s on the outside but she’s not who she says she is. Or at least not who everyone thinks she is.

Happiness.

That’s what everyone wants in this life. Happiness. So that must be the meaning of life. To be happy.

I believe this is wrong. We are not all “trying to be happy”. We are all trying to feel something. Feeling every range of emotion during our life is what the purpose is.

We are meant to feel sorrow and misery. But that is because we are able to feel joy and love. We can’t have one without the other so the purpose of life is to feel.

Emotions give life meaning. Can you imagine going through every day and not feeling anything? Maybe some of you have felt this way. Numb. Numb from past trauma or current struggles. But let me tell you, feeling numb is still feeling something.

You have a choice. You can decided to block out all other emotions. You can go through every day feeling numb or angry or depressed. Doing this will not bring meaning to your life though.

You can decide to feel. You can decide to bring meaning to your life. The meaning of life is not to be happy but to feel.

The sky in full bloom As much as the blossoms do. Colors winding and twisty. Bright yet soft and subtle.

The clouds swoon Beaming at the sun rays. Soft cream like silky milk And floating like seafoam.

Nature starts to stir. The noises coming alive. Hearing the morning chatter Neighbors and friends.

The calm of the morning Serene and washed beauty. The gentleness of the sun Awakening what’s inside.

I am speaking without words. Pleading with my eyes. But you don’t seem to see it.

Crying out for help But no rope is thrown, Down into my despair.

You could have been my person. The one I could always count on. Too bad you couldn’t see it.

Couldn’t see the pain in my face, The anguish in my breath. Or could you?

Could you hear my cries for help? Did you ignore them like everybody else? Did you turn a blind eye?

Maybe I wanted you to see it, Wanted you to care. Maybe I wanted it too badly.

Standing still or flying by Time seems to move as it pleases. Though I do my best and try I can’t take it all in fast enough.

The clock stares down The face of it moving time along. Moving to drown The the simplicity of life.

Stopping it would be ideal But only a fool would try. The clock it likes to steal. Maybe I am foolish after all.