I am once again reminded of the atrocity and the beauty but mainly the horror of exchanging ideas. It is truly a horror. Even when one feels that the idea has been communicated, that the other person has understood it beyond words, there is a little that is lost, a little of the soul which dies, when the idea has ceased being solely gazed upon by you. Our minds immediately begin imagining the other person's thoughts and opinions, soiling the original idea with their foreign personality. There is something so special, so beautiful, about solitude, of self, of existence pure and simple.
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Poetrysuppose Truth was a woman... * * * A collection of poems & thoughts about life and death and everything in between. * * * Disclaimer: Everything you read here was collected directly from my notes and journals, so please excuse any excess passion or...
