It's only natural that I'm a little mournful now. It's only a little natural that I'm writing now. I wish I could do this without having to go through some inner turmoil.

It's true, creativity yearns to escape naturally out of passion, whether it be exuberant or downhearted, but can't something be made out of simply being? That's what I want to do.

I realize that I'm living the human experience all the time. I stop all the time and let imaginary lenses cover my eyes to snap the moment into a frame in my mind. In a second, everything becomes nostalgic. And then I let it go and walk on. I get quiet and watch and listen, smile and nod at every passing joke. Maybe this is a little typical . . . but I feel myself become the enigma time and time again, even to myself. I slip behind everyone's vision as something between flesh and shadow. At least, this is what I feel.

I suppose the funny thing is that nothing is probably as I see it despite the fact that my eyes are so often fixed on everyone else going through their own motions, as my mind peddles through possibilities and takes notes.

At the base of it, I guess someone could simply say that the boy is still struggling to find himself and is actually subconsciously absorbed with wondering what everyone thinks of him and with what everyone is thinking as they move through their own spaces, motions, notions.

There's a lot I wish I knew, there's a lot I wish I could do, think, express, figure out, become . . .

I chalk up every time I go out someplace by myself, whether it be eating at a restaurant alone or going to see a show by myself, as an experience to better my self-esteem and confidence.

But everyone needs to know that someone needs them. And life must be lived in equal parts in solitude and in companionship.

So where does this lead me? Where am I now? Why am I writing?

I was happy last night because I got to be excited and experience something that I don't often do.

I'm disappointed in myself now because I let some people down.

But is it all minutiae?

Simplicity never truly comes easily.

The motions is what they call them.

The road ahead for me is shadowy and vague. It's as it is every time I go out alone. Sitting on the metro, riding to some destination that I've never been before, my brain running through the cinematic perspectives I often apply to my life (perhaps stemming from my habit of escapism). I'm dogged by gnawing. I've got a smile on my face. The people keep walking. I plough on vaguely. I just can't let it get to me.

I don't know where I am.