I am going to say this and leave this here. Then again, this is where I always leave things like this.
Right here, with you.

I suppose my fear and even my greatest fears are common, as if to be like the norm.
Or maybe my fears are simple. Maybe this is silly and the items in my life that frighten me can be compared to everyday things which occur among regular people. Therefore, I am not so different nor do I have the right to complain or bitch.
But I do . . .
Maybe I am plain, like vanilla. Maybe I am otherwise flavorless and not so noticeable, like the happenstance moments which take place in our daily existence.
Or maybe not.
Maybe nothing about me or my fears are commonplace.
Maybe I am inherently different and unlike anyone else.

I have been thinking about the thought machine for years now.
I know, this sounds like a funny thing. But this is very real to me.

I think about the thoughts that either push or pull me in a specific direction.
What are they?
Where do they come from?
How do my thoughts gain speed the way they do?
And if it’s possible for someone to think themselves sick, then why do we do this to ourselves?
This is what I mean when I say I have been thinking about the thought machine for years now.

Of course, you and I have a past. We all have them.
Of course, our past has mapped out the ideas of how we should live or be in our future.

Of course, our past has ways of shadowing the future, if you know what I mean.
Our past can alter our perception or shade the way we experience joy or feel sunlight on our face.
And to be clear, our past has ways of intercepting our beliefs and leave us doubtful.
That is, of course, if we allow this to happen.
And most often, we do.

It never hurts to dream.
Of course not.

It never hurts to open yourself up to a vision so the mind can explore what our dreams will look like when the finally come true.
And I do this.
I do this often, in fact.
I have to.

And it dawns on me sometimes.
You know?

This is called an awakening, I suppose. Or maybe this is a moment of clarity and a time of awareness that wakes me up to the truth.
I can call this a moment of realization whereas, times are tough, and the threats are many, but the spine cannot bend anymore, and the will is too tired of being weary or submissive.

There are times when the consequences are no longer intimidating enough to cause us to sit quietly.
And next, our will and intent outweigh the gravity around us.

There must be something. There has to be.
Or should I say that we all need something. Everyone needs something to relieve stress or to break the tension so that we can breathe.
And yes, I say breathe, which is automatic and part of body’s responsibility.
But when I say breathe, I mean breathe as in a sigh of relief.

We all need something to right the inaccurate wrongs in our head.
At least, I do which is why I always come here to sit with you.

I see you. I see you as clear as the reflection I see in the mirror.
I also see you as clearly as I see the inaccuracies which reflect in the mirror.
If that makes any sense, which I think it does.
Or at least, I believe this makes sense to people like us.

And you can hide all you want to. You can run.
Or you can try. You can sneak away and avert your eyes and act as if this doesn’t exist,
but the idea of faking it until you make it doesn’t always make sense.
You can look away if you want to. Or you can act as if I am not here or in the room.
But I am.

The sunrise was beautiful this morning. My routine changed for today, which caused me to have to leave at a different time.
But the ride was worth it.
I saw the sun come up while driving alongside The East River. I can tell you without a doubt that I have seen all sides of my city. I have seen the good parts and the bad, and somehow, despite all the craziness and the stories, I know this world is a good place.

But first, I think it is important for us to touch on something.
Okay?

I wonder what it would take to be young again. 
Or if at all, I wonder if this is possible?

I wonder if this is even possible. I wonder what it would feel like to regain that sort of resilience that only comes when you’re young enough to believe in a million tomorrows.  
I wonder.