what makes a month a tough one? Is it the elevator that plummets several floors leaving you with a single thought looping over and over like it was a promise of the last thing you will ever think of?
Is it the slow demise of the one thing that silver lines your everything? so slow in fact that you almost feel yourself age while it takes its toll on you.
The brutal force of an entity that kills and beats and lies about it. The slim chances that your life could have ended that night, or the life of a loved one.
Is it the scare that you have to endure on your own inside your head, waiting and wondering and praying and terrified of it's concequences, alone, so alone in your head that almost anything that your mind manages to curate takes you back right to it. Then the waiting a little while for an instant truth, one that brings with it so much fear you would rather not wait at all, or feel like you're waiting a life time.
what constitutes our understanding of time? Is it what comes between a day and thirty ones [or so] later? do we categorize our state of emotions and mentality between these days and count our way into or out of it?
What causes our only truths to become the lies we insist on telling? As we pile up details to confuse and dilute the simple known facts that make our lives what they are... Is this how we lose touch of who we are? A merger of lies and non-lies that we share with the people who supposedly know our reality, realizing that eventually, they don't at all.
I am not sure of the answers to the above questions, but I have come to know the frustration that comes with the inability to verbalize sensical responses.. overwhelming, and enveloping.
All I know is that it is easier to ask these questions on my own, to myself, and await as my mind tries to conjure up the answers, that perhaps if I reach a conclusion by myself, it would be easier to absorb, and further more, implement.
Is it the slow demise of the one thing that silver lines your everything? so slow in fact that you almost feel yourself age while it takes its toll on you.
The brutal force of an entity that kills and beats and lies about it. The slim chances that your life could have ended that night, or the life of a loved one.
Is it the scare that you have to endure on your own inside your head, waiting and wondering and praying and terrified of it's concequences, alone, so alone in your head that almost anything that your mind manages to curate takes you back right to it. Then the waiting a little while for an instant truth, one that brings with it so much fear you would rather not wait at all, or feel like you're waiting a life time.
what constitutes our understanding of time? Is it what comes between a day and thirty ones [or so] later? do we categorize our state of emotions and mentality between these days and count our way into or out of it?
What causes our only truths to become the lies we insist on telling? As we pile up details to confuse and dilute the simple known facts that make our lives what they are... Is this how we lose touch of who we are? A merger of lies and non-lies that we share with the people who supposedly know our reality, realizing that eventually, they don't at all.
I am not sure of the answers to the above questions, but I have come to know the frustration that comes with the inability to verbalize sensical responses.. overwhelming, and enveloping.
All I know is that it is easier to ask these questions on my own, to myself, and await as my mind tries to conjure up the answers, that perhaps if I reach a conclusion by myself, it would be easier to absorb, and further more, implement.
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