"I have seen the nakedness of my dreams"
My tears are kept at bay because I know this is the last time I have to let go and turn away.
I spiraled down while questioning my questions.
I would often open my mouth to speak , half expecting a foreign language to spill out with the same grace as my native one.
I was sadly disappointed to hear the familiarity of my own tough.
Fear Doubt and Reason share the same mask making it hard for me to tell them apart.
He fears my doubt with good reason.
When its gone, when he is not an option, when its time that master my life like a puppet, I feel the extent of it all
Time apart, time together. The time we have in the future and the time we never had in the past.
Time is the paper on which we write our story, his strokes are long and thick made with certainty in bright red ink
mine are short and suborn made with thurow thoughts.
The days blend in a blur, the moments have fried edges, but the feelings are as clear and solid as cold stone
my reality has never been as crisp and clear as my thoughts of reality
I have sculpted my life, smoothing out each curve, twisting and contorting the shape with the end resulting in my Vaughn idea come to life with unexpected details, perfect in other words
what else can I create?
Life becomes more exciting when you use your hands
I always thought love would be simple and clear, but infact its messy and convoluted with epiphanies of stillness
confusion in the dark at 4am has nothing on a silent smile in soft sunlight at 4pm
I spiraled down while questioning my questions.
I would often open my mouth to speak , half expecting a foreign language to spill out with the same grace as my native one.
I was sadly disappointed to hear the familiarity of my own tough.
Fear Doubt and Reason share the same mask making it hard for me to tell them apart.
He fears my doubt with good reason.
When its gone, when he is not an option, when its time that master my life like a puppet, I feel the extent of it all
Time apart, time together. The time we have in the future and the time we never had in the past.
Time is the paper on which we write our story, his strokes are long and thick made with certainty in bright red ink
mine are short and suborn made with thurow thoughts.
The days blend in a blur, the moments have fried edges, but the feelings are as clear and solid as cold stone
my reality has never been as crisp and clear as my thoughts of reality
I have sculpted my life, smoothing out each curve, twisting and contorting the shape with the end resulting in my Vaughn idea come to life with unexpected details, perfect in other words
what else can I create?
Life becomes more exciting when you use your hands
I always thought love would be simple and clear, but infact its messy and convoluted with epiphanies of stillness
confusion in the dark at 4am has nothing on a silent smile in soft sunlight at 4pm