Baby, I'm An Anarchist.

I want something like that.

Beyond time and death, beyond all normal human boundaries. Unlikely that it will happen though.

There's that feeling again. Like I'm almost touching on something I shouldn't, or that my subconcious doesn't want me to. Yet I try. It's on the tip of my tongue...

Yet so fleeting. And disconcerting.

Tell me your story? I'd love to hear it, in it's entirety. I don't know if I'll ever hear the full version, though. You'll probably always keep it to yourself.

As much as it pains me to hear it, I still yearn to hear every word. It makes me sick to my stomach, to hear what you've been through. But at the same time I find it so interesting and...justifying, in a weird way. To know that I've been there to help, even if it was after the fact.

Sometimes I wonder if anything I type here means anything at all. It feels like its a cover-up to something bigger, some matter my mind isn't willing to let me discuss.

Not that I'd ever really know; if it isn't meant to be discussed, my mind will make sure of that.

So nonsensical. So fitting.

Disjointed. I like that.