For too long, I have masqueraded under a guise of depressive melancholic nostalgia and a dark sinister fascination with all things Dantesque (even if in my own twisted way). Suffice to say, I'm little better for it, but many other things have saved me from depression regardless. It is with that realisation that I'm opening myself up here. All of me. Not a compartment or crevice but the whole colossus that I am.
I have always believed that writing is my saviour and so I shall be saved. Even if it is in my overly dramatized rhetoric. Well this is me, inside my head. Take it or leave it. There will be moments of brilliance and moments of utter stupidity. I will offend and befriend many and all. I will not care. And I will be desperate too. In short I will be. Why?
Nearly living again would do that to you. I remain at this same page with a new vigor.
I am still reaching Purgatoria.
I am still preparing myself.
I am starting to have fun.
I am once again living.
I have always believed that writing is my saviour and so I shall be saved. Even if it is in my overly dramatized rhetoric. Well this is me, inside my head. Take it or leave it. There will be moments of brilliance and moments of utter stupidity. I will offend and befriend many and all. I will not care. And I will be desperate too. In short I will be. Why?
Nearly living again would do that to you. I remain at this same page with a new vigor.
I am still reaching Purgatoria.
I am still preparing myself.
I am starting to have fun.
I am once again living.
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