Sometimes even the imagination lets one down.
Was memory always as much of a burden as it could sometimes be a blessing.
Always guarding one's real, precious self in a cocoon of tranquility within a thousand masks. Life itself had become a secret affair.
It was so much more comfortable to be able to divide people into heroes and villains and expect them to play their allotted part.
Love, I have discovered, does not judge. It just is.
My happiness has to come from within myself or it is too fragile a thing to be of any use to me and too much of a burden to benefit any of my loved ones.