breathe.

For the longest time, I shut my mind off from my feelings.
I built a dam under my tear ducts,
roped off my heart,
and closed the doors to the public.

But then I came to Paris.

And I didn't go because I had dreams of becoming a writer.
No.
I came because Raoul  told me to.
because it was supposed to be safe.
because it was supposed to be easy.

But he couldn't have been more wrong.

Because the first day I set foot in the class I came face to face with the phantom.
And he gave me an opportunity to start over.
To show everyone who I really am.
like a social baptism offering me a way to wash the dirt off my reputation.
A way to erase the names of "TOOL" & "PLAYER"
that are tattooed in bold lettering across my chest.

So i've hid behind a computer screen & a keyboard using the name "Lloyd Dobler" as a mask.
and i've told y'all how I really feel & who I really am.

A guy who trusts too much & forgives to easily.
A guy who believes in love at first sight, happily ever afters, & bigfoot.
And i've finally found myself.
I'm finally happy.

every blog post & every poem is like a personal therapy session.
I'm a self made therapist Nelson.
And I didn't need to go get no degree.
NO.

All I needed was Paris.
Paris, a pen, and a notebook.
and with these tools I've been able to scratch out the memories that have been choking out my mind for as long as I can remember.

Because I feel that now the stress is gone and the stars have aligned.
the locks around my soul have broken.
and the real man inside me can feel the crisp wind on his cheeks
and feel the warmth of love in his heart.
and he can inhale the pictures of his past like a breath of fresh air.
knowing that only God can judge him.
and that he's here for a reason.
i'm here for a reason.

and the words that have been caught in my throat will spill out with the truth.
And i'll be able to breathe.

I'll be able to breathe.

I'll be able to breathe.

and there will still be days where I will fall with the snow and retreat into the receding tide.
But with every new day I'll rise with the morning sun
and let the songs of the birds carry me above the smog and through the clouds.

And I'll make it.
I don't know where I'm going, but I'll make it.

And when I get there I'll send paris a postcard that says "Wish you were here!"

signed,
Lloyd & the Phantom

-Lloyd.