I need an outlet to deal with stress. I am not sure how much longer I continue on this current path, and it is not for a lack of care or effort. Difficult decisions define and sculpt the future of a person. I must clear my mind in order to make proper decisions. My will is crumbling, I feel like an eroded piece of land; never moving while everything else shapes me without my consent.
Sometimes it takes a person time to realize things. What a joke right? Who doesn’t know that? A certain truth is found in the simplistic nature of things, although no truth is absolute. Despite a persons best intentions, they are still a person. Lately I find myself struggling with my mind over what reality actually is or can become, and I find life to be nothing and everything all at once. Each second, the infinite is taking place. Anything you can possibly imagine has already taken place several times over in the amount of time it took you to read this, and to me, that is beautiful and frightening. A reason to continue.
Everything you do for others ultimately helps you, it’s in the way you go about it. When you have a brief moment of compassion, and when you feel compelled to simply help because you know the other person needs and deserves it; when that moment happens, you have helped them which ends up helping you, but when you intentionally help yourself by helping them, that’s when you have failed.
You mean so much to me and it took me a month to get my feelings and thoughts together. I am so thankful that you stuck by my side. So many others want you, and at times, it bothers me. They openly chase after you even while knowing I’m in the picture. It’s frustrating, and when they blog pictures of you with little phrases about your beauty, I find myself aggravated. I know I should take these things with a grain of salt; I am yours and you are mine, but it still gets to me. I don’t like that it does, and I am working to see these things in a new perspective. I guess I feel as though their compliments seem uncalled for. Why am I even writing about this? Why do I let people who do not matter, know you, or will ever have a chance get to me? Perhaps it is weak willpower on my part; I know I have issues, and I want to resolve them in order to be the best I can be.
To miss something or someone is a terrible curse; I would never wish it on anyone.
Brief moments of serenity come to me, but this night no longer has any peace. I love when the music surrounds me, resonating with my soul as I bleed sweat. The intentions of entering this decrepit basement have nothing to do with making an impression or friends. It’s my serenity. I get to lose myself. Rest does not come; I should have ignored you. My peace of mind that was just obtained has been broken, and what for? Why does this even bother me anymore when I know it shouldn’t?
What does it really mean to lose your mind? Can it be misplaced, or do we actually just forget which way is up and which way is down? Do we forget what is wrong and what is right, or what is considered real and what is not? It’s not really an act of losing your mind, but more or less a type of neglect. Neglecting to give a fuck about the perceptions of others and becoming lost in your own world.
Love is not something to be understood; it is something to be felt.
I find that being a writer can go one of two ways. Yes, this will be generalizing a bit, but the truth still stands. Writing is honest. I mean that in every form the word can come in. Writing is deceptive. Again, in every form the word can exist. Every sentence telling a story created, either, from reality, a twisted view of reality, or completely from the imagination. The truth of my existence or a beautiful lie.
Lately, I feel my writing has not been up to par. The words written for the lady I enjoy are genuine and real, and they are my only actual accomplishments in writing, recently. The rest feels like well crafted bullshit; is my clever tongue really communicating, or does everyone see right through me? Perhaps the enjoyment of my vacation has left my mind blank? Serenity leaves me refreshed, and most of my writing reveals itself. Why does inspiration come at times of despair, sorrow, emptiness, extreme joy, invigorating experiences, or from love? Why is it no where to be found during times of neutrality; moments where life is smooth before or after ups-and-downs? I want a life I can be proud of, and with my writing being a reflection of self, I feel let down currently. The time to begin fully writing at a level worth anything has come. Time to prepare.
The way she smiles brings me so much joy. I would have never thought these feelings would come, and I know I said I would not let something like this happen; how could I control what life offers? How can I say no to something so wonderful?
Tell me your secrets as you find my soul. I will take them down the dark corridors of my mind; they will be left locked deep inside, only to surface at the times you need to be reminded of how far you have come. Understand the man I am, and if successful, I will lay by your side always. I will do the same for you, so you can sleep in peace knowing that you are understood. You will know your feelings are not in vain; you will simply know.
Letting go of expectation is to say no to disappointment. Do not be selfish. Do not allow others to define your life.
The mist felt refreshing when it made contact. A continuous roar of water pooling and hitting rocks soothes the soul, and I look into the valley, watching the water shift through a maze of boulders and rocks. I realized a new type of beauty today when I stood at the waterfalls edge and looked into the distance.
Renewal is a beautiful thing. Nothing really beats the goosebumps from a moment of inspiration that brings about a complete refresh. Yeah, nothing really beats feeling new again.