I've given my heart away and it has not come back to me.
Its what I suffer from on a day to day basis, giving my heart away, without a choice, without having another way. Wanting to love, than to pass on anything else. In such a beautiful action, can it really be wrong, or bad in anyway at all.
I'm done writing for one night, perhaps I can go one. I realize perhaps is one of my favorite words. Its so laissezz-faire, it is subliminal, meaningful and strong without being harsh or single minded. It is all encompassing, and equivocal but in a more direct way. It is meaningful without being vague, and vague without being utterly ambiguous. All it all it is simply one of those words that are perfect for a moment to use, and not give away any particularity in specific, yet still make the necessary statement.
I come to cafe shops to write, to explore my creative side.
When people cough or clear their throat, it makes me feel so nervous. As if I have become the cause of their discomfort. Its pretty extreme, but I can't help myself. In reality any person in touch with their self would not be bothered by any form of another human. However, there is the twist and therein lies my worry that perhaps, I am beyond any messed up person, I am messed up to a level that is so deep that it is diminishing to not only myself, but to those around. That is the ultimate fear that in my prison, I make others a prisioner. And certainly in ones freedom, we can feel a sense of freedom.
We are all ofcourse a product of our environment. Perhaps my environment needs to see this aspect of me, because perhaps it is due to the influences of my environment (in reality my family and personal choices and relationships) I have endured this range of discomfort, and isolation. Isolation of myself, to the point of self-abandonment. No need to worry about another abandoning me, because I can do it way better and a lot faster than anyone else ever could.
Isn't that the intricate truth of the unknown unconscious.
Its what I suffer from on a day to day basis, giving my heart away, without a choice, without having another way. Wanting to love, than to pass on anything else. In such a beautiful action, can it really be wrong, or bad in anyway at all.
I'm done writing for one night, perhaps I can go one. I realize perhaps is one of my favorite words. Its so laissezz-faire, it is subliminal, meaningful and strong without being harsh or single minded. It is all encompassing, and equivocal but in a more direct way. It is meaningful without being vague, and vague without being utterly ambiguous. All it all it is simply one of those words that are perfect for a moment to use, and not give away any particularity in specific, yet still make the necessary statement.
I come to cafe shops to write, to explore my creative side.
When people cough or clear their throat, it makes me feel so nervous. As if I have become the cause of their discomfort. Its pretty extreme, but I can't help myself. In reality any person in touch with their self would not be bothered by any form of another human. However, there is the twist and therein lies my worry that perhaps, I am beyond any messed up person, I am messed up to a level that is so deep that it is diminishing to not only myself, but to those around. That is the ultimate fear that in my prison, I make others a prisioner. And certainly in ones freedom, we can feel a sense of freedom.
We are all ofcourse a product of our environment. Perhaps my environment needs to see this aspect of me, because perhaps it is due to the influences of my environment (in reality my family and personal choices and relationships) I have endured this range of discomfort, and isolation. Isolation of myself, to the point of self-abandonment. No need to worry about another abandoning me, because I can do it way better and a lot faster than anyone else ever could.
Isn't that the intricate truth of the unknown unconscious.
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