Sunset on the Sea

Wow, Starbucks is crowded today. I am just walking through the day. There are some love songs playing on Pandora that make me think of my Line Deputy. Maybe he got some baby and small child pictures of me today. He needs to see beyond the horror to realize that I had a normal existence that others could see even on Oahu. I kept my torture behind the scenes with massive unquantifiable attributes and a comedy that I could see very brilliantly. They did what they did, but I was, in essence, an E.T. who always had the heart of a hierarchical figure who learned to compete with their means since the moment of conception. At times, it feels hopeless, but even that is a ritualistic effect on me. The fact that I can speak and converse normally is a miracle. My discourse is very cordial and others have commented that it is elite. I have been called gifted. I guess I know not what that means in relation to all community. The mirage has been so strong, and my injuries have been ignored and hidden. As I come to be, what is meant to be seen by society will be seen, but other things I want privacy about so that I can take on the archetype of HERO (in the sense of the Jungian archetypal system), not the psychological concept of VICTIM or somehow worse "survivor!" That word is so patronizing in the reality of my days in hell. I will keep it short and say, "I love you Caribou!" Maybe codes are best until I once again see the sea.