This year I have become myself.
Or, maybe, I have just crystallized into something whole, maybe I simply feel complete now that I know that this is as whole as I will ever be. alone.
And in all my solitude, in all my hours burning candles, in all my facing of myself, I’ve finally become someone who does not need anyone else to validate my own existence.
Lawrence Black: serial monogamist. Wannabe prince to those who shall remain nameless, those who are now blameless, to those who are, in my estimation, at least, changeless and perfect. And I lived through them, I saw myself through their eyes – for better and then for worse – until the bitter end.
And between those starts and ends, I was never a man unto myself, I was never okay – just okay – I was never okay; I was never okay – not on my own, at least.
And now I am [okay].
Now I am living through myself for the first time.
And for the first time, I am living for myself.
For this life is mine.
It is a wondrous thing to be okay, to know that regardless of whether or not anyone else does, that you yourself know, you know who you are; for to know who you are is to be okay.