Caustic Play

Could it be that a cloudy day brings the best out of me? Despite all the nonsense I have put up with the last few days, I'm happy to say that this chapter is coming to a close. It's that feeling you get when you finish a good book and you can sit back and immerse yourself in the dream world that the author created just for you. Because when it all comes down to it, who do you look out for? Your friends, when it's convenient. Your family, when it suits you. I'm am looking for someone. I don't know who they are, the names they go by, or even what they look like. All the easy indicators of a familiar face are not present or important at this time. I am looking not just to look, but because it's the only thing I am sure I can do. Now how do you find someone who you don't know anything about or encountered before? All I can say is that I am doing the best I can to find you, my friend or my lover, I am.

As I have said earlier, this masterpiece of mine, this book of my existence, wither it be a novel or a novella, is not ending but simply pausing on a page in order for the writer to continue with a new thought, a short break from the tyrants and tricksters of this season: the sowing season. I do not wish for this book to be read by anyone and in the event that they could decipher this enigma, what they would see would be enough to dethrone and demolish all that I have put into play. All the half-hatched and cold-hearted schemes would be exposed to an ignorant viewer, one who I wish I could say would be more disturbed then I am by possessing these vivid and egotist memories. As this is a diary of sorts, I am putting in to writing that I don't wish to be figured out. And to make it worse, I intend to be hypocritical in saying that I do intend to so to others, more-so for personal pleasure rather than sinister wants and desires. I respect those who open up, but I envy those who don't. Where do I stand? Who knows if I have really achieved what I have set out to do or if I have played you there.