To think uncritically is to believe that the world is flat. If everything is as we see and only as such, then any and all the beauty around us is finite. And so, we must be critical. We must question all that's in front of us and we mustn't feel the need to love it all. To believe in a round world is not the same as loving all the world holds. There's distaste. There's discomfort. Let it be so. But do not let these feeling overtake you or your sense of wonder. That, my dear, is when we run into issues and the point at which the world becomes flat again.
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I'm so caught up in love.
If my love was a grape. I don't even know. The point is, I'm so caught up in love In you. In me. In us. Not what we could be. But what we are. I'm living in the clouds, And I don't want to come down And I'm writing cheesy poems. I'm thinking too fast, But each moment is so slow. I blink. You're here. I blink. You're here. I'm so caught up in love, With you And I don't want to find my way out. I don't want to think slow, experience fast. I want to write rhyming poems And blink and have you here. I'm so caught up in love, But. I'm so caught up in love. Very rarely do I come in contact with people who are so passionate about their thoughts that their excitement oozes out with every breath they take and every word they speak. When I do meet such people, it's a blessing. It's a blessing, because I aspire to be such a person. It's a blessing, because such people show me, remind me that this life is full of wonder. I tend to forget this fact, so thankfully my "very rarely" hasn't been too rare. Thank You God that it's actually been quite often.
What does one write in an essay? On a Google doc? On places where words are immortalised? When I write on paper, little notebooks bound by staples, I have freedom to erase and cross things out, to burn and forget.
When I write here, I do not have access to such a luxury. I may choose to revise and forget, but Google knows. I may choose to delete and permanently delete, but the second I wrote, “What,” 1s and 0s lined up and vowed to never ever forget. I want to be remembered, but my 18 year-old self can’t even promise my 19 year-old self that what I write today and in the months to come will be something I’m proud of. Immortalised. Book in the library if all goes well. My 8 year-old dreams come true. MAK on the spine of my first bound work. Beautiful. Perfect. But what do I say? God, what do I say? School: a place where I can be a kid, where I can ask questions and sit excited, intently. School reminds me how to really see and experience the Glory of it All.
You can still celebrate when you're heartbroken.
So, don't wait till you're whole to love the other. You'll be waiting a lifetime. A lifetime is too short for that. A lifetime is too long. "I'll always be here."
I should stop and correct you, but I want too badly for it to be true. A Distorted View of Love
I look at you and I think that you are the embodiment of love. Not all that love is, but all that love could be. -- Me and you, we could take the world by storm. Be the friends cheesy candy apple books are made of and friendship bracelets made for. We could love those around us way too deeply, come out full of scars, but unphased, nonetheless. -- But you aren't the embodiment of love. I am not. Together we cannot be, but we can try. Actually, we're going to be fantastic, eventually. Until eventually, we'll at least not be alone.
I am prepared to meet today, but I wish I could have slept just a little bit longer.
It'd be about love and it'll have all been said before. But not by me, and that is where its beauty would lie. Not in its organisation or concrete nature, but in its identity as my essay.
The future is here. I can feel it; I can see it. It's terrifying and beautiful, but most of all it's here.
After playing the waiting game for what felt like too long, the future has finally arrived. I have finally arrived. I'm not yet who I'm meant to be, but I'm who I'm meant to be in this moment. I'm finally the me who is ready to meet the future. Hello, future. You know me, but I don't know you, so please be patient. Thanks in advance. - Me, 29/09/17 She took a deep breath and blinked twice to keep salty droplets of water from falling out of her mud brown eyes. She blinked because she was sad.
I tell you she was sad because not too long ago she was blinking to keep out the dust that found itself in the wind when she was speed-walking toward her dream. She later chose to blink to confirm that a distant blurry figure was her dream as close as it's ever been. She made the mistake of blinking and missed the instant the figure quietly vanished and made its way a few feet beneath the earth. She blinked, took a stone, along with the little bit of lightning left inside of her and inscribed, "MAY THE DREAM THAT I LOVED BUT FORGOT TO TRUST, THE DREAM UNREALISED, FIND A HOME THAT BELIEVES IN THE REALITY IT HOLDS." She knelt to the ground and began to dig her small hands into the mud, all the while blinking to keep little brown specks from getting into her eye and salty droplets from getting out. When she finished she laid the stone in the ground among a field of stones that were all different, but all the same. Don't make mistakes, make choices. Don't wander through life hoping you'll end up somewhere wonderful, make choices. Make choices and if you realise later you could've done better, accept it, do better, and appreciate that the choice you made was yours. Let yourself be free to make choices, not mistakes.
"I like to wait till I have everything figured out." "By then it'll be too late."
Sometimes life and the relationships in it aren't about saying something profound to another person, but saying something at all.
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