(no subject)

Nov 11, 2012 23:30

i used to feel that through my writings, i created my reality. the words i wrote enlarged my life, made it more real.
now that my world is so full and real, i find myself hardly being able to write. i am thinking about what this is, what this means, if it means anything at all. i feel that i need to push through something. lift the veil. take my place, be here again. be with these words.
make them.

...make them what

make myself believe in them again.
tonight there is no moon, just a gentle soft black nothing sky, and as i walked under it i realized i am doing very well at lowering my expectations. and dealing with whatever comes my way.
that being said, expectations are not the same as demands...

also, before falling asleep last night, i had one of these dreams which arent really dreams but half-dreams, half-visions, revelations... there was a voice guiding me through these images that kept transforming, the basis of all was a circle, a single cell that everything came from and everything turned into. i remember thinking ah, this is it, this is how simple it all is.

and it is.
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