It’s November 22 already. Can you believe it? Time is passing me by like the winds missing its beat, unable to hold the strength of its own forcefulness. I am so human today– more flawed than I have ever been, distorted and confused of the right way for me. I just want to be. The taste so delightful I keep coming back– addictive; boisterous– is it wrong? Am I wrong for just wanting to live? Can God understand this need, my decision?
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I wish I could read minds. I wonder of the depth of the thoughts of those around me– strangers with little emotions on their faces– masks I wish we never had to wear. I wonder of their fears, their foolish dreams, the shallow ideas I know occupy the spaces of their brains, especially the deep ones– the darkest, buried like a dangerous fire, afraid to consume. I want to know what their lives are made of. If maybe people are like me at all.
The most interesting of them live out of boxes. I can’t truly name a single one. I am dying for answers.