There are so many times everyday, where I lose myself to a daydream. So much detail, so much emotion. Like it could be truly real if only I knew how to reach out and make it so.

And then I'm dragged back, kicking and screaming into a reality where I've already given up most days. Where I'm just a guy with a head full of stories that no one can ever truly know.

I feel like if I really knew how to show them, people might be able to draw strength from them. To learn about themselves through the eyes and tongues of people they will never see. Places that agonizingly only exist in the naive and twisted psyche of just another human artist among infinite others.

I'd like that. I'd really like that.

But the war against myself takes up whatever time I might spend making my reality the kind of dream that I live out in my mind every single day.

A war with rules, no limit on the way that my mind commits untold war crimes on me every single day. The weight of every possible mistake multiplied by a margin so large that it loses meaning.

What kind of god would create a being that exists with the talent to bring impossible tales of wonder and growth to life, but is chained and tortured by that same talent, left alone on the outside of the things they create?

A stranger looking in.

Maybe I'm just another egotistical asshole. Who knows...