These words we write, at rare times they are the words that comprise the essence of our spirit: sometimes one may write and the proper meaning of what is inside us spills out onto the page. These are the notions that make the man a man, that make the woman a woman, that make the human being a human being. Perhaps, though, we write and then look back, and wonder, what have I written that is so important that I need express it? We write and then look back, and see that we have not written anything, after all. And perhaps there is the mystery solved, that we are not so deep as we conceive we are, that these primal ideals we contrive to hold within us are as much dust as we are made from.
These words we write, sometimes they are the words we close our eyes to — these are the truths we fear to imagine. What we fool ourselves to be far ahead in time sometimes comes upon us tomorrow, and that is barely in the future at all. Tomorrow happens every day, and these tomorrows sometimes we all have feared. At times tomorrow is beyond the last erg of our strength to take. And yet, and yet, in the fragile of its becoming: somehow in our fear, somehow beyond the strength that we ever imagined we possessed, in the fewest frail moments in the rarest days are true heroes born. Yes, these are the words, but they are only words. In times where there is only darkness around us, it is to light a candle in that darkness, and walk past where anyone expects you to go.
x
7:56am monday, 27th may
Everything matters if if you don't know what it means. Just keep writing.
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11:04am monday, 27th may
dose life matter? is it worth the bother? i really do not think so....
dee
10:28pm monday, 27th may
i sometimes fear the next moment and the next...but when a moment happens and it wasn't feared- there is relief for the moment b4 and a lot of wondering as to what the fear was about
x
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