And suddenly I understand it. And it nearly makes me chuckle. Almost.

Just like how I almost give in and keep my eyes closed, give in fighting, sleep and forget against the pale fuzz of morning. If I remember then, it won't be the same. It isn't the same now, sitting here at the computer realising and realising and realising. Because I am not supposed to realise, you see. If I had given up and gone to sleep, let myself sleep, fought my way to sleep, that would have been the most fitting. The same human sacrifice daily and nightly made. What I want to make and do, thwarted and frustrated.

Because that's what I am. What page in the big black book that I have been created so cunningly. I am the knight of Frustrated Desire. That is my own chapter. I am the giver in.

I am the King Capitulator, the could-be-wrong, the have-it-your-way. I wear a black domino like a superhero's mask and maybe black wings, maybe a black cape. I do not fly through the air. That would be realising, and I don't do that. I want to, though.

I am always wanting to.

<<agé chose>>

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