  My thoughts have come together and have become one tangled mess. I stare at this post form as if I expect the words to flow from their tangled mess within my brain out onto this page...
But they do not. Instead they wrap and twist upon themselves and I no longer know what is real and what is imagined. Wishful thinking, I suspect, is slowly creeping in and taking over my brain, like kudzu on some poor unsuspecting tree. It colors every word, every action, every moment of silence and missed opportunity. Soon, I suspect all vestiges of reality will be gone in a haze of rose. There is no cause for this rosy tint that I can see; It came on its own provocation not on the action of another, or even an action of myself. I suspect I'm falling and wonder how long I have until I reach the ground. Because to put it simply I always hit the ground. 
