No one knows.
No one really knows what goes on in your head or your heart.
Even if you tell someone your thoughts, they can only understand you from their own perspective.
No one knows how you feel.
No one knows what it feels like to have a cut in my skin or a bone that never healed right or the aches in my back.
But then again, this is me.

As for you . . .
No one feels your pain or your pleasure.
No one knows what color looks like from your eyes.
And I know this.
I know because I say this all the time.
I have no idea what the color red looks like to you. I have no idea what the waves at Point Lookout feel like on your skin nor will I ever see the sunset through your eyes.

No one knows what it’s like to wake up and get out of bed and face your life or your struggles. Even more, nobody knows what it took for you to stand up when you swore that you couldn’t.

No matter what,
I don’t care what is said after this
but this has to be said
and yes
this has to be said
by me
and yes this has to be said by me,
now.

1)

I come with no excuses
and to be clear,
explanations
are not the same as excuses.

What are we? Or perhaps I should ask why are we the way we are?
Are we the body we live in? Are we the products of our environment?
Are we two kids who aged but never grew up?
I wonder.
Are we more than just living breathing things that walk and talk or think and feel?
I hope we are.
Is this a dream? If this is a dream, is there a way that we can change the plot?
Can we make a change to see something different or something new?
I think that would be nice.

I go back to that old idea that helps me decipher between me and myself or the madness of my ideas. Better yet, I go back to the method that helps me salvage myself and keeps me breathing.
So?
Let me leave this here.
Let me leave my words without thinking about them and let me let my thoughts take off from this point.

Let me confess my thoughts which are not so crazy, to say the least, but dreamy if anything. I am hopeful, or like the aspirations of youth, I view my dreams as my spirit that stems from the purity of heart.
I am opening this entry with hopes to make myself clear, or if not clear, at least not misunderstood or muddied like a lake disturbed by the unwanted footprint of dirty souls.

Therefore, I confess.

I don’t know how this goes. I don’t know how people connect or why out of the billions of people in this world, our life seems to overlap with certain people.
Like us, for example.
Think about the odds. Think about the math or the probability of meeting someone so special or out of this world. Somehow, out of more than 7 billion people on this planet, I am somehow fortunate to have met, or sat with someone like you, and shared a meal or a piece of time on this great place called Earth.

The world truly is a magical and cosmic place. The odds of meeting the people we have met are infinitely ongoing and elsewise, no matter what has happened, or if our paths align, separate, intersect, or run concurrently; I swear, the odds of this or the probability of us is beyond infinite.
Yet, we fail to realize the relevance or the importance of life. We fail to see the way we intertwine as people.

I still say that you have to let your hair down. You have to loosen your shoes every one in a while.
You have to let go. Understand?
I say that everyone needs to go crazy sometimes. I say that this is a right that no one can afford to forfeit.
Believe me.
You have to let yourself experience the rage and the rush and the absolute adrenaline that comes with the freedom that comes without concern or worry about the consequences.
Just live.
Just let yourself go.
Just for the moment.

I have these dreams which are always the same. I am in a small rowboat with The Old Man.
We are fishing in a lake.
I don’t know where we are. I can only assume that it is early in the morning.
The Old Man is quiet. And so am I.
Nothing is said.

I am not sure if I am a young boy in this dream. I do not know if I am grown, like I am now.
Either way –
I view him the same way as I always have.