What's with my fascination with the dark? Why do I linger in life's shadows and close my eyes to sunshine that would make me smile? I think that sometimes I don't want to see the good because I'm afraid it will make the bad seem less bad. And I don't want the bad to seem any better. I don't want it to seem better, not because I don't want to feel better, but because it doesn't seem fair -- like I'd be playing part in a cover-up. To look at the good and smile seems a mockery to my pain, for how can joy and sorrow survive each other? How can I dare claim to possess happiness when my pain is screaming "liar!"? It seems sacrilegious -- like wearing yellow to a funeral. Of course, there are those times when survival calls me from the shadow to laugh and smile again. After all, I can't spend my whole life attending funerals. I must don my yellow cloak, step outside, and enjoy the walk to the next one. So my life becomes a strange contradiction. A contradiction that keeps me alive.  ¶ 11:33 PM