Come with me…


…and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination…

Pure imagination.

What even is that? For no matter how hard I dream, I don’t know if I could fully dream without restriction. Even my dream dreams have restrictions.

Love is weird. Not much else to say. It’s weird. And it can be sad. It makes me sad sometimes.

I think I love love just as much as I am afraid and saddened by it. It equal parts thrills me, frightens me and makes me weep.

Isn’t that funny?

Or maybe it’s just pathetic.

Maybe the way I look at love, an emotion so infused in the fabric of our very essence as human beings, is also how I see myself.

Confident and happy. Weirdly frightened by things I cannot see. Riddled with a past that is both sad and oddly tragic.

However. My mind wanders so much I cannot rest on one side for more than a short while.

What do you do when you’re not quite happy but you’re not sad because in theory all is right and you can’t be angry about anything because you’re too analytical and understand that a situation is more than it appears and that anger is not an appropriate solution to the issue at hand?

What do you do if a run on sentence becomes a paragraph?

Pray that my sentences become shorter and my mind picks a point sooner rather later, fam.




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