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| I could sit like this for hours. The panic attacks always paralyzed me. But at the same time I knew that if I waited long enough, slowly, the chemistries in my body and brain causing the anxiety would finally settle down. I just had to wait, and breathe. It was a meditation, an involuntary one. |
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Sometimes I would imagine that like me, he too was a prisoner. That the glossy magazine cover and his status as a star held his soul in captivity, as anxiety held mine. Sitting in that room in silence for so many hours. I sometimes wondered what we would talk about if we ever met. |
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| I saw it from a certain angle sitting on my bed. It felt like I had discovered a secret portal in my room that nobody else could see. The surface was shriveled after years of hanging in a damp place. |
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Can fame create an isolation of the soul? What happens if you loose yourself to fame, and you are only seen for what you do, and not who you really are? If you are only loved for success, what happens if you one day fail? Do you disappear? |
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| The reflection from my Ikea lamp distorted the perfection of his face and transformed him into a satyric figure staring out through the flamelike formations. The only clear thing in the entire image was his left eye, shining like a lighthouse through my storm. |
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I feel at home in his gaze. His eyes shine with the same life force and intensity that I once had in mine. If I could ever look into them in real life, would the mirror neurons in my brain awaken the light in my eyes again? |
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