Stepping over troubled puddles
Ghosts of the past always seem to reside right on the edges of your vision haunting the movements of your life. Her ghost is there, a love past and gone but still tugging the strings of the mind and heart from that faded world. Shouldn't i deny her a heart open and disentangled when hers is so wrapped up in ethereal strings? It seems like life's complications can be so easily seen and dealt with yet in our selfish endeavors to find the the safest paths and places to live we push unnecessary strain on the people that wish to be apart of our life within attaching complications. I am me, and you are she/he/it and there is a needed sense of connection that strive for us to share, simply said. Simple words and simple actions and simple expressions of solace and fear in this mortal life.
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Its funny, when i share things i have written in the past, either from this journal or those that i keep on my person, it becomes a kind of test. I judge the reaction of the person to deem whether to share more words, more lines of my life. No one has passed yet, which says a lot about me and less about the people tested, and words remained locked with the boundaries of the book they reside or on this digital medium, away from eyes of those i know (well for the most part). A true, old school style journal.
Speaking of which, i really need to write more.
Ready...
go
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Its funny, when i share things i have written in the past, either from this journal or those that i keep on my person, it becomes a kind of test. I judge the reaction of the person to deem whether to share more words, more lines of my life. No one has passed yet, which says a lot about me and less about the people tested, and words remained locked with the boundaries of the book they reside or on this digital medium, away from eyes of those i know (well for the most part). A true, old school style journal.
Speaking of which, i really need to write more.
Ready...
go