I used to be a different person.  I used to be enigmatic.  I knew the pull I had.  I embraced it.  Now, I can barely recall that person.  I am cocooned.  Drawn in tight, holding everything within as sacred.  I like to think that eventually I will flower into a better version of me.  I fear I will lose myself in the fog I surround myself in, the fog that only keeps the nightmares softened, blurs the edges of the other reality into something I can bear inside my head.  It’s astounding how much I can remember now.  How easily I can let it be a part of me that sculpted this woman instead of shattering her.  I become a shadow, varied obscurity.  Glimpses of truth buried behind the smoke.  I am distilling myself into something palpable.  High notes of sarcasm and witticism with low notes of charity and compassion.  If I survive the process you will love her again.  If not, at least I tried to tame the madness into something beautiful.