I write so much everyday. I read words I don't comprehend, so many times, until I can finally call them my own. Almost. I have become so heavily ingrained in the system that it is me and I am it and we are inseparable and I am a valley of words volleying around the alleys of hope, love, despair and defeat. Of course I scream, and shout and silently cry, but nobody hears me. They're too busy carving their own ways out of the mud and beyond the mist. Why then is it so hard for me to write from the heart anymore? I barely scrape the surface before I'm down and out and trying to escape again. If only I could find what my mind writes everyday in a quiet corner, I could maybe use it to understand the encrypted dream-like messages scribbled on the walls of this prison. Maybe only that can help me escape into my reality. The one I've been looking for out beyond the fields of forever. Love.