What a scare.
How did you dare?
Who will truly care?
It’s the fright of the unknown.
But you are where I call home.
This will bw forgotten,
Stored at most as a memory.
Our whole lives are memories.
We only live in our past.
As my right ear meets the surface of my pillow I hear a plane set off ridding Into the sky.
The rumble is strong and it’s echoed in my stomach.
I’ve drank some milk
Will it settle?
If it does I was sick; if it does not I will have discovered something I have avoided so confidently:
We know nothing.
Anything we precive as real is our imagination and beliefs.
Though that is all that matters.
There’s no such thing as fate.
Only yourself to blame.
There’s that moment; after you grab the ball and before you’ve thrown it when you are lost looking forward.
Your mind could be on the target or it could fly to the overwhelming silence inside.
A new sense of strength builds: strike.
The intensity is rising.
It’s getting worse.
I don’t even see him.
I see her.
I see me.
It’s happening again now.
In our minds we have created intricate forms of ourselves.
Memories, facts, opinions, abilities and talents.
We recreate our selves constently and tend to find ourselves shut out.
From your family, friends, partners… Even from ourselves.
There’s a large black wall with a small, wooden door with a gratuitious amount of “private”s graffitied on.
The corner of your lip twiches and your palms are clamy. Two steps closer and you put your hand on the knob…
Are you sure you want to go in?