Substance Free.

My dreaming never got me this far.

I've always been one to project a path before reaching its starting point; there's something reassuring in knowing what to expect. I've strayed fro my careful planning, past the paths I carefully marked from start to finish, to dirt-worn paths overgrown with thickets. I'm wading, unable to see. My trust lies in intuition, and strangely, excitement courses through every inch of my skin. For once, I'm not in control. For once, I know what it is to throw away tedious plans and accept suggestions.

My muscles grow increasingly lax inversely with strength. My lungs don't strain when I break a sweat; it's good to feel healthy from surface to sensation. Who knew kicking excess and sweaty basement machinery would line me up with the best? I don't color my eyes with clashing reds and greens; my mind is sound. A decline of substance leaves me with nothing to abuse. Life is hard to tarnish when poison remains at bay. I've been leaving my rags aside with nothing to polish. It's hard to hold back the smile constantly playing at my lips, so I don't.

I'll miss everything about this place.