It happened again. I saw the end of all worlds and all horrors, the beginning of the universe and chaos’s kiss. I became the intention of the stars and the whisper of gods and it was terrifying. Terrifying doesn't cut it, I would have cut out my eyes if my hands were not holding on to themselves for dear life. 

I heard the prayers of the sick and touched the tears of the damned and I wish I could prepare you for the hell that is life after death but you don't need me to do that.

I tightroped the line between love and hate so believe them when they tell you that is thin, thinner than any thread to exist, but you have to decide what waits for you at the other end and accept whatever comes with it. 

I didn't get to choose because there was a different route, the one your voice took me in. It was the same spot in your room -the one i cast all my demons to and refuse to look at at night- the same place i found myself the last time it happened. The place where that one painting used to sit.

 The man in the painting talked like you, but where you panicked, he held my hand, smiled that silly smile and asked me back home. He promised to hold my hand through it if I just followed his voice. I'll be honest and say I didn't trust it but anything is better than dying in your own hands. 

The journey back hurt, you tell me I screamed and I remember being pulled back and seeing the births, deaths and despair. It hurt too much but there was a promise of love at the end and that was enough for me. 

Sometimes the thing you want the most will kill you. But sometimes it will save you from yourself and the thoughts that plague you darkest moments, kiss you after you fight them and tell you that you might just be the best thing since sliced bread and sometimes, sometimes you will believe it. 

I hate that it took so long, but I am no longer afraid of that corner in your room, nor of that painting and weirdly enough, of my own brain.