They call love one of those foreign things that you only understand once you experience. The basis of love is vague. The axis on which love rotates is rusted and I am stuck. I am stuck on the part of road where self love meets self loathe. So you see, I seek a different kind of love. These loves— unrequited. So we are back to self. Physically I am unstoppable. A machine, this is fact. Mentally I am, distraught. I forebode fear and the worst is the need to know— or else on set anxiety. I have to know why. With every piece of information that falls into my lap, I analyze. Which is probably why I think everyone is always analyzing me. In any event, I read social cues most people don't even know they have. A head turn, the tap of a finger or a foot, a shift in tone of voice or body language. But also, I analyze situations. Why did things go the way they went? I find the source of fault and I build. Quite fast might I add. Though in the same breath, there sometimes is no fault. When that happens I start to look for character flaws & I build. Hear me out, people are machines. We run on systems that have been engraved into us since birth. In most cases and hence the word most, the brains run systematically. There is order, a way things should be done. This could be as simple as, sock on left foot, then on right. Shoe on left foot, tie. Shoe on right foot, tie. Or, more complex personal systems such as, moralities & ethics. In any event, with this gift— because a gift it is, it has made everyday life slightly awkward. Having to process every situation that crosses my mind, and after eighteen years of being the most social I've ever been grows a shell. In the shell lives the most fragile parts of myself the part that cannot handle rejection, the part they cannot handle fear, heartbreak, the part they cannot handle the harshness of the world the cruelties. The part that craves attachment without actually asking for it, craves validation. The part that fears love. And we're back, at love again. It seems to be root of all things & I keep finding it in all the wrongs places..
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& So It Goes
RandomNO TABLE OF CONTENT; JUST CONTENT There is no particular order in which these pieces are to be read. This is solely a collection of my thoughts, works, words and pieces.
