Well.

I wish there was a way I could write something new for you.
Something that has not been contaminated by the white anguish of my former self.
But I have nothing whole to offer you.
It scares me.
I know that what I’m opening myself up to has the potential to destroy me- once and for all.
Am I ready?

I must remember that this might be a dead end as well.
But something is growing inside of me.
Day by day.
I wont call it Hope.
That makes it sound dangerous.
Am I ready?

I don’t want to post this.
This doesn’t make sense.
Does it?
WhatamIdoingwhatamIdoingwhatamIdoing?
Stopthinkingsomuch.
Stopit.

Am I ready?
Hell, yeah.