A blank page, which can become my emotions once I pour them down onto it and let them soak through. It is nothing before it is created by the words it becomes. But the words could not come down anywhere if there was no page there. But the page is empty before-hand—it has no nature in itself. It is the emptiness, the useless, that allows there to be existence, and use.
Distractions prevent the depth of thought that allows for greatness.
I like blank pages. A lot. I feel the same way toward them that I feel about my future, when I really imagine and envision it. It’s undefined and could become anything. And my blessing and curse is that I see how limitlessly amazing it could become. And then I become scared, because I’ve always dreamed crazily like that. And I’ve gotten lost in those worlds that I create and desire, and the Jocks that inhabit them. And I imagine people that fawn over me, a world that bends to my will, loves and admires me, a world that I’ve left my fingerprint on, I’ve changed it and improved it and the people see me as a hero. And I’m humble and loving but so sure of myself. And I come back to reality and the contrasts strike me like a baseball bat, and I’m left cowering in fear of another blow. Dreams, desires, they intimidate me. Because sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to go about realistically achieving them.
And here I am telling the same old story. The story I’ve been telling since I was aware there was a story. It’s always up and down, but when I tell it, there were those tinges of sadness. Of despair. Because I’ve known them, I’ve sat with them in their dark corners, hoods drawn, fouling the air.
But that’s not the story I’m choosing to tell anymore. It’s kind of funny, every time I start telling my story for the last 3ish months I always jolt into this valiant couragetalk partway through. I guess that’s good, cause I’m questioning an old way that doesn’t serve me and adopting a new way. Yeah, it’s definitely good.
It’s funny also, the things we devote our lives to. What we do for love. The people that make and break us and hold us steady. I love it, everyone running around, going for something, trying, but for they know not what, just zipping here and there and exchanging small parts of our lives. It’s those parts, when our corners chip off on each other as we speed by on life’s highway, that give us what we need. And as long as there is some degree of genuineness, care in those interactions, I will always have hope. Of all the things that bring me hope and reconcile me from my worst nightmares, people do it best. When the interactions become shallow, angsty, human relations take a dive. We need to always protect our authenticity, open ourselves to the person walking by and say hello.
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
blakekathryn
prguitarman
pixelskylines
vaporwave
