It is hard sometimes to verbalize a coherent truth. We are encumbered by things that we may not even understand, may not know. How can that be reconciled with any sort of normalcy? I'm sure at some point an answer to this was articulated. As of yet, however, I am as far from realizing that as I am from being grown up.

Truthfully, I am afraid to say anything I truly mean, to display anything outward, much less inward. I've grown up in this manner, substituting acting where real honesty should hypothetically be. Maybe that is pretense as well, because I am knowingly honest with my close friends; they have reciprocated this, cementing something that a person is lucky to find a few times in one's life: true friendship.

Now, people are laughing outside my door. It is such an old sound now, and I think that rarely a night goes by where I do not hear it. That and the sirens that seem to blare under my window three times a week. You'd think people would just learn the lesson at this point.

I am throwing the words honest and true around too much tonight. What either of these means in the long run is all mystification anyway. I guess that I just really need a place to get through the next three months. This will be it; somehow, if I think long and hard, I can convince myself of this probably false dictum.

I write tonight, but tomorrow is no certainty. Nor the day after. Someone said to me that the best prose is the simplest. I honestly believe that. Unfortunately, it is never simple here. As if it is ever simple anywhere else. In a song I once wrote, one line claimed that simplicity is sincerity. I wnt to convince myself again that I believe in that logic. I need to rid myself of complication.

Tonight, I need to be sleeping, but I cannot. I cannot do anything. I need to be in the right here. And I can't even achieve that.