I feel lost, unmet by peace, a distant acquaintance to what we call vulnerability. I look at my hands, at my thoughts, at the words my fingers share with the world and experience a rather painful unending pit of nothingness. The choice to see life as more than a miserable chaotic folly of events is something I’m well aware of and something that has done very little to actually change much, or so it has felt. So my desire to look at life in a positive light seems incredibly distant, outrageously far and in a place I don’t want to go. For change will not be there, a brighter day will never share it’s rays of shine with me. I know the journey of self love and compassion takes but a few thoughts but it feels like a journey to the moon, and in my lifetime I’ve yet to even hit a few miles. So here I sit, laying my thoughts on a page, sharing what it is like to stumble and fall through life with a bunch of robbers waiting to steal all that I’ve acquired once I’ve hit the ground.
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