To walk in the unmanifest, in the heart of another and step on glass, and instead of crying you ask if they are okay because there is so much broken glass within them, well, that may be love.
"Yeah, so maybe don’t get your hopes up too much, maybe don’t travel across galaxies for it. Also, this is a thought I just had as I was talking, maybe not knowing is better than actually knowing, the anticipation is better than the resolution, the open ended story is better than a completed one, like life you know?"
I did not feel a part of humanity. There was no pride or sadness to the statement, it was just how I felt, or should I say, did not feel. To me, it was all just poetry, and I know, I’m a character who will stay on the page as the pen keeps going.
I looked at the chicken laying on the grass lifeless and I felt bad. Some experiments do that.
“Yes, I lost everything but the pain.” “I don’t think that is true,” I said to the ghost. “You have so many beautiful qualities that you have displayed to me in this short time. Manners, kindness, compassion, humility, awareness, if that all stems from pain, then either pain is not a bad thing or pain is just a part of everything.”
On the way, on my scooter, I accidentally run over a snail. “This better be good,” I say to myself as I arrive, “I killed to be here.”
“When you find yourself pondering into the fearless past. It’s a necessity to use it as awareness; that this moment, riddled with emotions, will also be nothing but a beautiful memory you wish to relive.” – Riley Dyson
To say I love you to someone, and mean it, might be the reason we are all here. And if the most amazing girl you have ever met tells you that they love you, you must be doing something true.
A dangerous thing to do; slaughtering the sacred cow to assure yourself it was alive.
When they sleep, eyes completely closed, off having little cat dreams of a life better or worse, when they want nothing, can be anywhere, but choose to be beside him, he smiles, smoking his pipe, drinking his wine, writing his stories, having his own dreams whilst awake.
Searching for the love of my dead dog everywhere, never going to find it. I wonder what Ralph did in the small backyard to aid the pain in his anxious little heart? Grew a tumour. I like to think he worked a few things out. I feel like him now, waiting for me to come home, listening for the car to pull into the driveway, a release, a relief.