Things You Cannot Say

Because you do not know, you stumble along assailed by ghosts that you cannot see. You cannot see them because they live beneath a cover of darkness behind a veil that you pulled shut many years ago. They goad and stab and tickle you whenever a blind memory of them finds a cue to step up into your mood. Then you goddamn this and fuck that not knowing why you are so angry. So what do you do? You pick up the torch left here by your possibility and figure out how to ignite its revealing light. Once you can see, you have to go into the darkest place of your fear. There you will find wonder and the gold you paid the demons so they would let you live. It is your ransom, and, after some work, you can reclaim the authorship of the story you were born to tell, the gift you have been looking for all these years.