impending anarchy
Well, it's 3am again, and I can't sleep-for the seventh time this week. On days like these, all I do is take out my notebook and scribble something somewhat meaningful to calm the voices inside or, better yet, give them a voice. That however seems to have lost any and all efficacy as my notebook remains open yet just as blank and void as my essence. The voices remain quiet, eerily quiet, which with the benefit of hindsight may indeed be a blessing in disguise-or not. I certainly am grateful, but I can't help but wonder if this is all just the proverbial calm before the storm. What if they still thrive, so much so that we are now one, and I know not where I end nor where they begin. I'm trying my best to stay afloat, all the while dreading it counting for naught.
_storyteller.
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