The Paradox of Freedom

In my vain attempts to be an inspiration to my peers (and subconsciously to myself ), I have become everything and yet, nothing.

When the struggle to reconcile expectations with reality becomes too overbearing and almost negatively impossible, I, alone, convince myself to the limitless beauty of life. This can be, of course, interpreted as somewhat of a stretch, maybe a lie, but I believe one can never lie to one's self. One can merely convince oneself of the truth that has always been. And if by chance there is an off chance that a lie to thyself is, in fact, probable, I suppose I have convinced myself of many lies.

The truth of the matter is, I haven't got anything figured out. I merely pretend to seem so and for a second, I feel a sense of satisfaction that, like most other satisfaction, fades with the wind. And just like the wind, I am aimless in my action and limitless to my destination. But boundaries, they say, are meant to be broken, just as laws are meant to be amended. I've always believed that. And I've always loved it. In the same way that the forbidden pleasures of this world are the sweetest of all pleasures, I delight in biting into the things prohibited, untouched, unseen. And yes, I see the eyes that judge, the finger that disapproves and the words that lashes my every breath, yet I am chained in my own impulse to act. I allow myself to these because I must, because I do.

I wish I knew why. I wish I had the answers to my own questions. But I claw for your approval so grant me this wish and I promise it will be my last.

Once again, however, I find myself in a chamber of guilt. The masquerade ball is only until midnight but the show continues to haunt me...