breaking down with style.

I always have had trouble going through this wall, and the thing is I know it isn't there at all; nothing keeping me at all from whatever was beyond that unpassable border. Except that in this situation, knowing isn't worth jackshit. I just didn't know what to make of that wall, of whatever it was. I couldn't put my mind's finger on what it was. Was it made of emotions or memories. Or just psychoshit that I made up unconsciously. Whatever it was, it was an unknown, and things were easier if I let it be, if I took it for granted and just kept on breathing for the sake of living. Easier said, and I know it bothered me more than I would like to give it credit for. It certainly took me long enough to say hello, and finally recognize it for what it was.

The wall was me, voices and all. demons and all. inconsistencies and all. I was right that it was never there at all.

I am moments away now from stepping through and sentimental as hell, I think I would like a look back.

Then I am through, and the air here smells like the ocean.