all the possible futures i could never allow myself to imagine, are now dreams you've lived without me. cold comatose with unlimited stimuli leaves me sweaty in bed coughing, wheezing, wishing for the doldrums of your life. And how oft have I said, "I need wind!" to a heart crumbling in my pale breeze, left sidelined by ambitions for excitement? I'm sorry you had a normal childhood, as well - but not so much as I am that I could not see the days I have missed standing before me: and the path I chose, winding up mountain sides littered with fallen rocks and the debris of my own rowdy sacrifices to Experience was no more or less a life than those I walked out on: simply this man's life.
I really like this one. It’s sad, but feels honest even though I’m sure I don’t get the same meaning from it as you do. Moreso than honest, it feels like someone kicked me in the gut while reading it, but not really *me*, but you…the writer. Did any of that make sense?