Dear Diary,
Good that the cheers broke me apart, good that the fog drew their memories and filled mine with void. I shall surpass the fake mystic i met before, and shall as i had... lost the walk that multitude walks... in crowds and glows that forage the mystery of ever being known to exist. And thrive I shall in lost pages of the books that were never written. And collapse in bed on nights to speak my own language with my own ghosts.