and what about the guy looking in my own window?

So I mentioned looking into windows, only knowing normal vicariously.

There is a guy I've been letting into a window in my own house. I show him a room or closet here or there, my stairways, some decor, maybe a book on a table.

But I don't let him stay long. I rush him through a messy stack of my thoughts and then push him out my window again and don't show back up for a month.

No, I don't invite him in through a door. It's always the same window.

In my house are many closed off rooms. Sometimes I open one a crack, or sometimes I have to hunt for a key and it doesn't fit. Sometimes I discover an old closet with a stuck door, and I can't get what I want off a shelf in there.

Sometimes that guy knows how to help me with the doors. I think I'm ready to open some of the rooms up.

I'm thinking how weird it is that I don't let anyone else into my head like that to help me. I tried a few times, but it got miserable, so I stopped.

I'm in a weird place right now. I have felt for a long time like I'm not really here, and then I run into stuff like this.

I knew by the time I was 22 that my heart was black. The gulf between what feels unreal and whether I care looks infinite on some days.

I'm still with Puddleglum on reality- Whatever lies we've been told, however we might be mocked, I still want the beautiful things to be real, whether I can feel them or not.

We create what we wish to exist. We are powerful that way.