I've been having conversations in my head, directed to persons both real and imaginary, about issues both past, and issues that have yet to come...

It's funnily relaxing.
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Tomorrow comes...today leaves... yesterday falls away to nothingness, an imprint in the tiny forest of our memories. How do the little trivialities fit in? Why should they matter at all... There's just this, here, now.
And you, there's still you...
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Do you really think me mad -- at least sometimes? The crying, the gasping, the chokes and struggles, they are the very essence of coherent lucidity and raw contact with reality. They are what is left behind when the mask and practiced niceties fall apart.
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My dear person, do not underestimate him. He is not like that tender bud you are tending, fragile and shaped by the wind. You must know, he was a fighter before he met me. And then he became a lover.
But yes, they are made of the very same stuff.