It’s back again. and I’m leveling my eyes into the sunspots of my cardigan, I can’t help, but realize I’ve ‘fallen’ again. I laugh at myself in a series of wonderment and disjointed romanticism. I love that I can feel this way, especially when this way has reproduced an atmosphere that feels like the culmination of everything I’ve devoted my soul to. I must deliver my soul from the evil place that is my own doubting self and thus further realize that I’m hollowed from all transgression; I’ve become intrepid, beyond what was felt before. It’s back again.