Hearing Grass Grow.

"Yeah, yeah, it'll be all okay," he said, "write your worries down and they'll fly away." 
So I put them down on a pad with a pen and I simply forgot how to worry again.

A moment lapsed, time stood still.  Nothing was as it had been, yet I still saw clearly where I was heading.  The road was unfamiliar and the grass far too green.  Keeping pace with the wind, each cool breeze brushing against my skin, pushing me forward toward a new life, then back home the way I came.  Eyes closed, arms outstretched, I simply embraced it.  Give me light, give me smiles, give me something new to distract me from the war going on inside my own head.  And as quickly as it began it stopped, without warning, simply stopped.  The grass stood still, every blade, simple, solitary, isolated and silent.  I watched it come from a distance, over the horizon of the flat plains of this god forsaken state, rolling over the dark fields and tall stalks of corn, slipping in between fence posts and barbed wire, until it reached it.  It stopped, I stopped, a moment lapsed and time stood still.  It was then that I realized I had been here before, all of these feelings that felt so new I had actually already experienced.  I was living someone else's life and feeling the way I felt when I had first come on this journey.  Being allowed a second chance was an extraordinary thing, but I knew I couldn't take it, it just wouldn't be fair.

So I wrote it all down and I published a book, and nobody bought it, and it sat on shelves at Border's & went to clearance three times before being recycled at Powell's, and I cried myself to sleep for a week straight because the only thing I loved about myself nobody else loved about me.