We're here to discuss pain, I suppose. It has approximately as many facets as a child's excuses. Many.

I have suckled upon a diet of romantic ideas and grown strong against the pain of heartbreak. Veins of weakness streaked the muscle like the veins of fat that streak your own, but I was young and felt strong and happy.

Let me speak of where I am now. I am in the home of my parents and my brothers and my sister. My dog also lives here although he cannot properly be called mine as I provide him with only belly scratches and kind words. My father sits near me and waits for my mother to rise. He has prepared coffee for her in the new coffee pot. My mother seems tireless and seems to take the coffee as a formality of the morning. At times I wonder if I alone can see her joints as they stiffen and her silent shudders as she wills herself forward to meet the day.

I have inherited this from her, I think. This perseverance. This swollen-jointed mucking through what blocks my way at any given moment. But it is a lost gift.

My sight is limited. The demons in my field of vision are torn asunder and flung to the depths. The demons that are wise enough to wait until my eyes grow heavy with sleep prevail again and again.

And I am here. At my parent's house. I drove here after the party for Brian's birthday. It was incredibly enjoyable. We drank and danced and laughter flowed like water. And I chose to come here.

Most of my friends (perhaps all) were asleep. Myself, I sleep very poorly as of late. Too many dreams. Nothing fun, either, not really. Every morning finds me split in twain, with another path to follow. I am following this path because this is my role. But the others follow their paths because I am too afraid to lead the way.

It is simple at first. Two forks diverge in a yellow wood. Being one traveler, long I stand (but not long for this is dream time) and I choose one. My vision strains and my tip-toes ache as I struggle to see where my other is going. Soon, I am lost for neither path is clear.

And it happens again.

When was it decided that I would be the one to hold every thread? I feel like some greedy dog-walker or overly-ambitious kite-flyer, only in control because I have yet to be torn apart.

Good, the sun is up. I shall crawl onto the couch and sleep. I don't know what I will awaken to or who they expect to find.

Everything I've said is a lie.