All of my life.. I have felt..

A fog.

My head feels like it's full, and I'm surrounded by water, but it's not that I'm suffocating, just that I am rocked, and lulled by this calming place. I'm cloudy, missing pages, like an old library book, and I exist. There are some who call me a friend, but I don't know them. Others who don't know me. I feel like nothing is real, and like everything I know is a lie, as if I've woken up from a long coma, only to find myself in someone else's twisted existence. It's all flat, but I go through the motions. I am a good kid. A good son. I get good grades, and I get a good job, but I don't feel...good. When you know nothing but a dull sense of what everyone says emotions are supposed to be, what else can you do but what everyone else wants? What everyone else expects? What they tell you to do? I have no real wants, and no real desires.

I am in a fog.

I learn to play the guitar in high school. It's something I learn easy. They say music is feeling, and that you have to feel something to express something, but no one complains when I play. I play to make others happy. My parents are proud. Schoolmates are excited. I feel nothing.

At twenty-five, my relationship fails. It was never serious to me, anyway. All I care about is chasing those pages. I find letters in the bottom of a bottle, in notes that hang flat, and one night... I meet you. I'm not sure if it was day five, or day six, but your green eyes are staring back at me, and it's almost as if I have never seen color before.

This was the first time I could breathe.