now i understand it, that dream, it was me obviously, you were me. my anima. you always were really beautiful, can i write that without being vain, ha! 
it's so obvious now but it's taken a few days for the clarity to come. i must be struggling with hope and despair deep down, i know i am, i do. experience has made me cynical, the antithesis of how i once felt.
the world is sorrow, it's impossible not to feel the onslaught of suffering, the more you know the more you hurt which is why escape takes it's forms, painkiller!
drugs, books, sex, fantasy, suicides, all end the pain.
i understand how compassion works, not just why it's important but why it's easy to be compassionate to almost everyone else except yourself. am i just getting older. will i be an angry old man, can i escape that? got to let it go mission, even that is just an idea your crazy old subconscious threw at you outta the blue but man did it shake me. and why are you my anima?