In a leafy outpost where tranquility lays side by side with nature.
Where flighted birds animate the sky and squirrels scamper up lush green trees wafting in the breeze.
In a place where no one would suspect lives a troubled soul.
Surviving on instinct against the perpetual commentary that he is so lucky, so fortunate.
Behind the envied espoused image of the perfect life, lies a bleak tortuous reality of a man fighting himself.
As each day passes, he lays a marker that he survived, that he floated above deep dark issues.
He wants to be free, be normal, interact with humanity like others seem to do.
He wants to smile, not just for selfies, but because he can’t help it.
He wants to laugh, share jokes, transform existence to another level.
He wants to cry, when he sees something melancholy, not because he can’t help it.
Looking out he wants to breathe in the magnificence of the world outsider the window pane.
Tell himself that he really is luck to be alive, that others are ecstatic with so much less.
He strives to reprimand himself for the selfishness of his inner thoughts which increases the turmoil boiling up inside.
Elevating the pressure to unprecedented levels that feel irreversible, that feel like the final curtain.
A curtain which threatens to fall down on a sad irrelevant life that showed so much promise.
He knows he must go on, for the sake of others, that he must face the encore, face the truth, try to build trust.
Trust in his ability to navigate the quagmire of his fractured journey.
Trust in others to understand that he will survive, that he alone can figure it out.
In a leafy outpost, belying the tranquility, there exists mixed up minds that no one can see, unless they seek beneath the surface.
And if they look hard enough they may find a troubled mind who on first sight seems so fortunate.