Hearts bleed on to paper to echo memories. Like holograms they dance on the pages of my mind. Yet it seems a purposeful wind wists them away as ghosts again. I hope you’re doing well.
I’ve been so scared… because I had forgotten what it felt like to care. The numbness of not knowing, not remembering, though anemic, felt safer than to try and understand it again.
Ironically, this wasn’t as much for others… as it was for the person I hadn’t heard from in the longest. My self.
How is it human nature is so quick to want a hard line for things? To identify them as one, then place them into a box neatly, not to be touched, moved, re-colored, hit, or added to? I find myself spending so much time, by default, shoving things into a definition of what I have seen them mean to be… but then, I spend more time hearing this deeper voice that has spun up from tension in the act… it asks the question, why are we trying to say this is the ONLY truth? Can not more than one exist at the same time?
What is it my darling, that you see?