I'm afraid my strength was partly feigned, for the sake of my family. Now that I am alone here on what was once an alien soil, and without an audience, the masquerade will have to end. Still, one must not wholly forsake prudence. Air can be released from the bloated balloon without the need for an explosive spectacle. Music helps untangle the incoherence within. It perceives themes where I see none, and helps the trickling chaos progress into oblivion.
This spell of melancholy is tiresome. It will have to end. I must choose to be happy. I will find ways to be happy.