Today, I fought imaginary battles, against made-up opponents, in fictional places in a present reality that isn't ours.

I can feel myself getting fed up. I can sense myself wanting to fade back and let things fall silent in my mind.

I don't want to leave this place. But all this noise is just too much right now.

Like a factory on the brink of explosion, I shut down before I overload.

And for a brief period for the sake of deep rest, I go numb.

It's a learned behavior.

An adaptive trait or failsafe my mind built to protect me from myself.

I often let too much in.

I try to carry too much at once, and worst of all, I try to prepare for things I may never carry.

I suffer from giving a damn.

I write because I suck at painting, but I love art.

If I stepped in front of a white canvas and gave it a quick stroke from a paint brush, I'd end up leaving a small streak of some neutral shade of brown across that white canvas. And my attempt at painting the soil in a garden with a shade of taupe from my palette would quickly be mistaken for me using the canvas as toilet paper. To avoid any further self-deprecation, I won't even begin to describe my drawing ability.

I write because I genuinely believe in the beauty and power of perspective and I'm a true believer of the quote "there is always another way". For a singer that lacks a soothing voice, you can always write songs, for a teacher that struggles with public speaking, you can always write textbooks and for an artist that can't paint, you can always write out the pictures through words.

There's no limit to the descriptive power of our languages and the emotions you can evoke from a well order sentence or a perfectly placed punctuation. Words can be just as captivating as pictures and allow you to hold the viewers hand as you walk them down an empty park trail on a summer afternoon while the cool summer breeze hits their skin and you both take in the view of the lake in the distant.

Authors have very often taken me with them on their journeys and never once I have, I stopped to wonder "Why didn't they just paint this?"

I used to think time healed all wounds until I got hurt.

I used to think time would help me forget.

I used to think time would make it hurt less

I then learned time only put distance between me and the event.

I then learned that the more time that past, the longer it would follow me.

After too much time it made it trauma.

After too much time it made it stick.

After too much time I realized I couldn't forget it.

Time didn't mend me.

Time made me into what I am today.

I wish I knew I had to mend myself.

I wish I knew not to give it time.

Two weeks ago, I finished my master's degree in business and I have yet to celebrate or acknowledgement my accomplishment. I feel happy about it, but yet I don't feel proud or even like I've done something grand. And I don't say this in a way to downplay myself, but I honestly thought I would feel more excited. Eight years ago, when I finished my bachelors I was estatic and I defitnely felt it. I mean EVERYTHING changed after my undergrad. I moved off campus, my family came up to celebrate and watch me walk. I started a new job. Life moved forward.

However, two weeks ago, nothing changed. I make the same amount of money, I work the same jo . Even the other day, my VP told me congrats and I responded "congrats for what?" As if everyone knew I finished, but me. I'm not sure what I'm suppose to be feeling or if this sort of numbness or lack of excitement is normal, but its strange.

Overall, I just feel really "light". The moment I got my final grade I felt so relaxed. It was like I finally had piece. My friends wanted to go out and celebrate my parents are super proud, but me I just wanted to finally be able to open my laptop and not have to worry about school work. It feels like the end of a long chore. That's it. I feel like I just cleaned my apartment and I'm satisfied, but there's no reason to throw a party.

As you can tell, I'm not the biggest fan of school. My approach has always been to pass my course with a B or better, rather than learn the material. Only a select few of us elite slackers and underachievers know what I mean by that. I more of a problem solver than a student. After roughly 3 years of school I had forgotten what it felt like to have nothing waying over me. What it was like to be carefree and have nothing weighing me down. It felt.. boring. I've always had this feeling of " there is something I'm suppose to be doing" And even the act of procrastinating those responsibilities was more exciting than having absolutely nothing to do.

So yeah, thats it. I've finished grad school, nothing has really changed and I'm bored and writing my thoughts out to my hearts content. For breakfast I had a 3 egg omlete with sautted white mushrooms, sweet peppers, red onions, and tomatoes with mild cheddar cheese.

I'm sure it would feel like my parents just walked into my room.

I'd look over at God and see there loving face or stern expression.

I'd reflect on the past few hours, days and weeks and wonder if something has happened.

Have I forgotten one of my responsibilities?

Have I been caught in a lie?

Have I disappointed them?

Have I made them proud?

Have I brought them joy?

Maybe they're just looking at me and enjoying what they've made.

I'm sure it would feel like my parents just walked into my room.

And at that very moment when we lock eyes I'd look up at God, and I'd say "Hi" with a surprised expression and wait for their response.

Because why did they just come into my room without knocking?

I don't have your number saved, but I know exactly who this is.

Can I forgive you?

... on one condition.

If I forgive you, then you have to promise me one thing.

You'll walk out of my life for good.

You have to promise me, that you will let me be a memory.

You have to promise me that. Okay!

I need us to go from sharing every moment and missing each other dearly, to someone you give a slight smile to and walk past. Someone who when you hear their name all of our core moments flood through your mind and you remember that at one time I was all that mattered to you.

Until now.

I will forgive you if you close this chapter and change my name in your phone to "the past" and keep it there.

Love is always blind, my friend. Whether it's your first time meeting them or your 10th year of marriage. It's all love, and it's all blind.

Sometimes, it's being blind to someone's flaws.

Sometimes, it's being blind to someone's insecurities.

Sometimes, it's being blind to someone's bad attitude.

Sometimes, it's being blind to our own daydreaming.

But love at first sight requires us to be more blind than average. Blind to the fact that it may just be lust. Blind to the fact that we may just be lonely. But mainly blind to the fact that we're seeing someone so breathtaking that before we even say a word to them, we've already made up our minds about them.

So much that we can't see past our own daydreams to realize they aren't who we think they are.

Regrets are a byproduct of self-reflection.

To feel regret, we have to look at our past and go, "I wish I was better."

The problem is that some of us fail to realize we're only better now because of those experiences. It's as though we appreciate the lesson, but loathe the process it took to teach it.

To be honest, I have many regrets.

I regret my most embarrassing moments.

I regret my biggest failures.

I regret my shortcomings.

I regret that time and time again, I didn't try hard enough.

In life and love, in work and in play.

It's human to have regrets.

Regrets are scars on the soul.

They're the one sign that we're actually evolving.

My biggest regret of all is worrying about having regrets.

Instead of realizing it's human to regret.

"So, am I the first reporter you've told your story to."

"No, I've told several. The story just never seems to make it on air," she said.

I stared at Ms. Romana in shock. There is no way this wouldn't make news. As I looked at her, she had a sly grin on her face that led me to believe she was hiding something from me. There was more to this story than she was telling me, and I just had to know.

"Ms. Romana, how has this not gone public? This is an amazing story! You even have old documents, artifacts, and photos to recall past events! Look, I even did some digging, your face is even in this photo of the Titanic I found, and here you are at the 1936 Olympic games, here you are at Woodstock, and you even have a picture with Elvis. You're the real d---!"

Before I could even finish my sentence, Ms. Romana leaped over the coffee table in the blink of an eye and placed her hand over my mouth. I was frozen in place; her eyes had changed from a light green to a deep red, and her nails, which were once polished and filed flat, were now sharp and burrowing into my cheek. But for some reason, I wasn't afraid. It was as if her gaze was telling my body that everything would be okay and that this was supposed to happen.

"Where did you find those photos?" she asked.

"I ran your face through a global database and found a few look-a-likes that seemed to match, but those were too close for comfort, so I brought em with me."

"You're the first person to actually believe my story and find proof that I haven't already retrieved and hidden. Nevertheless, the outcome will be the same," she replied angrily.

In classic vampire fashion, she sunk her teeth into my neck and began to do exactly what was in her nature. And there I was, powerless to resist. All I could do was sit there a die calmly. As the passing moments began to go by, I thought to myself. "Why would I come meet a vampire alone at their own home?" Well, that's obvious. Because before today, I had no idea they were real. I just thought I was meeting another nut case and brought my gun just in case. But what good is a gun against a hypnotizing vampire that fucked Elvis?

If you can survive an experience, you can also learn to live with it.

Life consists of peaks and valleys; you can expect to struggle at times, excel at others, and experience a few low points and high moments in between.

Sometimes I've felt like I'm walking down a foggy road with no map. And it feels like I'm this complex kind of lost. Because I don't know my destination or where I'm supposed to be, or who I'm supposed to be or even be with. And it made it hard to enjoy life. I'd go from each day just getting by, trying to survive until I made it out of the fog.

I'd survive, hoping that one day--hopefully tomorrow-- I'd figure it out.

And I'd crawl through the days, inching and inching, hoping that I was getting closer to some desired destination so I'd realize what I was supposed to be doing, and everything would be clear.

But instead, I realized why it was foggy and why I felt lost.

I realized why I can't seem to find the meaning behind my existence, and my life, and why it was so hard to stop surviving and start living.

I felt lost because I was looking for a certain destination, and there wasn't one. It's foggy because I think it's supposed to be clear, but there's actually no clear road ahead. And I can't find meaning because there isn't some grandiose purpose for each and every one of us.

I finally started living when I stopped trying to survive and learned to live with what was right in front of me-- even the inevitable. And with no clear road ahead, I'm able to choose how I want to live with it, how I want to experience it, and the meaning I want to pull from it.