Words
Lately I feel as if no one really knows me.
I wonder at times if I really even know myself?
Who am I? What do I want? Where am I going? When?
Who I am to others isn't who I am to myself.
There's this well deep inside of me which is full up with my words. I look around and wonder why I'm so stingy with them? Chris will ask how my day was and I can generally be relied upon to reply with just a handful of words. "Okay. Good. Fine." I may or may not regale him with stories of what has happened at work. Most likely I do not. He's frustrated by my tendency to give just, as he calls it, the bare minimum. It's not enough for him. I don't blame him.
I wonder at times if I really even know myself?
Who am I? What do I want? Where am I going? When?
Who I am to others isn't who I am to myself.
There's this well deep inside of me which is full up with my words. I look around and wonder why I'm so stingy with them? Chris will ask how my day was and I can generally be relied upon to reply with just a handful of words. "Okay. Good. Fine." I may or may not regale him with stories of what has happened at work. Most likely I do not. He's frustrated by my tendency to give just, as he calls it, the bare minimum. It's not enough for him. I don't blame him.