Writing makes me feel free. I say this a lot, and I mean it, but... I can't describe why. 

   I guess I spend a lot of time alone. I have a lot of friends... Kinda. But even when I'm surrounded by them, I dunno. I don't think I'm smarter or whatever. It's like, I'm on another plane of existence. There's so much that I like talking about and explaining things and such but it's hard. 

   I wish everyone was like me, in a way. At least then someone in this stupid world would understand my frustration or maybe just understand Me. But maybe I'm asking too much. I just feel so damn alone. Is this how all geniuses once felt at a time? Is this why so many incredible people have ended their life? Were they just... That Alone? Is that why they spend so much time doing things people would usually find boring or some such thing..? Did they just want to have something to fill the void and ease the loneliness? Well. 

   I guess I understand... 

If Mother is an artist

  her masterpiece is Spring.

When the foliage of the Earth anew

  with every shade of green.

The beauty of new life

  is the season's constant theme.

The rebirth of the dream

  that is being human being.

The reoccurring dream

  too glorious to become old.

"You are the blooming flower,"

  -the true story waiting to be told-

The most sacred of all flowers,

  (and every flower) is the soul.

The Ether Lotus Blossom

  only silence can unfold.