The Story of a Life
Your life was a story no one ever wrote down. It takes the same amount of energy to live as it does to die. You worked that equation. You know the answer when you settled into this rhythm. No one can blame you for that. Living is a difficult pattern to master. Things changte, the world spins and life as you know it never ceases. You read books to escape...you build library walla around your fragile mind as protecion from the world. The thickness of the words stick to your brain. Pages flutter as the wind shakes the trees. Trees become paper, paper becomes books, and those books serve to protect you, rattled only by the wind of other people's words. Nothing else is going to protect you. Something you learned when everything went unnoticed was that the only thing that was there to protect you then were your books, but some things change, and others never do. You never read anything too personal. It was too hard to believe that someone somewhere felt the same way you did and shared it with the whole world. People walked in on your emotions. Walked in, walked over, and left without a word. There's no evidence that they ever existed except the footprints they left in your head. The world is full of mental intruders...that's why your music is so loud. Notes block the voices of hideous lies, and even more terrible truths. A scream from someone you never met is as good as your own. No one will hate you for that. Every person you ever met you blocked with pages and sounds. The world never understood you. Maybe it's because you never let anyone try.