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It's lonely nights, like these, that always allow one to retreat into their mind. 

Exploring rooms you've long ago sealed, thinking their contents trivial, only vaguely valuable; rubbish. Now with limitless time to venture to dusty wings, you unearth pieces of your self. Pieces of a far off time. Pieces of him.

I've come to know missing you, as were it my skin. I forget you sometimes. 

Those moments add up like a crushing weight looming over head. Ready to snap sinuous cables, given half a mind to. 

It's like you wait until I am strong; you test me. 

I stand tall through the struggle, but I bear my marks for the journey.

You've always been waiting for me: at the brink of oblivion. 

I will wash you from this skin. I will lock these doors for another day and I will stitch together the prodigious chasm in my thoughts. 

The days of feasting have come to a close, yet again. 

If I am to escape, I must starve to slip from the shackles. Like a parched man I will return to you; desperate for more. Always more. Always. Until the end of my days. 
With a fresh start, comes an empty forum to voice ones thoughts.

Hopefully I will breathe new air into a long lifeless shell. Make it kick and dance in the most attractive ways and no longer fit the bill of silent wallflower.

I am back with resolve and my feet firmly planted, finally allowing my head to search the clouds. I have no more mountains left to climb. I have found my 7%.

-Shea