I can only read so many stories before my walls come tumbling down, and my written voice is running out of places to hide; my thoughts can't be contained inside me anymore, theyre too loud: im resonating too much.
Please excuse my sputters and hiccups; im in your realm now.
I dreamt last night, for the first time since I can remember. It was a riveting experience; full of passion and excitement. The practical details that I remember was that there was a two-fold struggle; two choices pulling me apart. The other detail I remember was my running (in this case driving) away in a high-speed chase. I woke up the same way I fell asleep: emotionally exhausted. Stranger still, I woke up knowing there would be a story for me, how could I not? It's not every day you see me go up in smoke.
I arrived at the columns of my enemy; immune to all the judging eyes that stared at my light. I was ablaze, you were boldly stepping foot into my world; and I am more than willing to help you find your pedestal. Your enthusiasm ignited me again; so much so I was willing to stand on the steps of my biggest challenge, and open up my insecurities, if you will. I was as loud as I could be, determined to have everyone know that I am not afraid. You weren't fooled, and neither was I. I stepped down off my plateau; feeling alive, I did it; people were silenced, and I was on the steps of my enemy, I found a way to use the suffocation as fuel; it was a revelation for me: I felt hot.
I wanted you to feel the same rush; I wanted you to stand above everyone else and shout your story to the same unwilling crowd. You were intimidated - like I was - and felt you couldn't compete. Maybe I'm just more willing to hide myself, after all I am the actor. I felt your insecurities, your bubbling, and I felt my face begin to get red. I asked if you wanted to go somewhere quieter, safer, calmer. I wasn't asking only for you, I was also asking for me. You were brave, and proceeded to perform something completely out of this world, play-wise, and skill-wise. I wasn't expecting such vulnerability; such open-ness, such raw talent. I ignited again, I felt I could give you very difficult critiques, and you took them, carried the weight of other's judgement and my direction and pushed it into your acting, I was proud, astounded, all the while still ablaze inside; I wasn't too hot yet.
Then the girl who knew how to run showed up. Already ablaze - and then ignited again - I began to smoke. It was small, and I didn't notice the source at first. I found myself shifting my feet to each of you, determined not to give one of you more attention then the other. At that point, i found the quiet voice in the back of my mind saying: "We should have found a smaller room." I asked you to go again; for someone to go again. I needed an out, I saw your uneasiness and felt it, I felt the two brightest spotlights on me, and I was too hot. I couldn't find a balance for both of your desires for my attention. I was having regrets, and I was losing focus, and going up in smoke. Fortunately, the bell was gracious and I found time to rest. We took giant steps, and tripped on our own ambitions.
The final bell rings, and I rush to my haven, where my people are, where everyone reassures each other and acts like springs on a trampoline -supporting the brave flier - to make sure they don't hit the ground too hard. My dissapointment was immense, I wanted to show off the vulnerabilities I presented, I wanted to see you perform. I saw myself suffocating in the smoke, and I sought to be louder, more red, to hide the wounds, and to push away the hardships.
You weren't fooled and neither was I.
The opportunity arose for me to go to the small, safe, piano room. I jumped on it, practically ran to it. I needed an out, and I found it. I still noticed everything and everyone else, but was powerless to stop it, I felt like I runaway train, an unstoppable force out of control. I was selfish, I burrowed myself in my music so deeply: i made a nest for one. It didn't matter who was or wasn't there. Then, like a drop of water on a hot pan, I realized I was hurting you. I couldn't decide what hurt more, the fact you thought I didn't notice, or the guilt of the exterior situation. I was blinded by all the smoke.
I felt torn apart. I begged for air; but I didn't beg. I was volatile, and hot, and dismissive. You noticed and sought to save me, but I felt trapped, not able to embrace comfort without embracing the pain at the same time. You saw me act foolish, stumble so many months back to the pompous boy who demanded idolization to feel powerful. I felt the knives and darts, but they just hit smoke and went right through me.
Walking home, in the cool night air, I finally had the opportunity to slow everything down, and work things out. I finally got to extinguish all the smoke and look at the effects it had. I burnt those I love the most. I wanted to scream, the very core of my personality is it's own undoing. I have to find the delicate balance of being a powerful flame, while constantly being aware of the effects of scorching everyone around me.
Please don't think I replaced you. I truly do need you. I need the person who's eyes glow through the smoke, who's arms are ready to help. I need you to humble me. I have to learn to find balance, to cool down, so as not to burn others. I want to help you, to give you my warmth. I want you not to believe things are water or fire; black or white. I want to keep writing, but I feel I have said my piece. I hate asking for help, because it makes me feel weak and dependant and unhelpful but I pray you will help me face the heat, because a small part of me fears I can't face it alone. In return, I will be there for you, and help you face anything that stands in your way. I will be your guardian if you will be mine.