Love puts our life, our life worth living, to the test every day all day they all say, or so I ‘m told. Love displays itself to each individual so uniquely it’s a special occasion for two people to feel the same reaction to a single molecule moment in the spectrum of life, a vast span with limitless possibilities. However, to show someone love, the world is asked and expected; a pressure so intense Atlas himself wouldn’t be able to hold it on his back. Public displays snub the world of what little they do for the thing in life they love most; often find that those things are that and not people, which someone think it’s okay to ridicule those for loving with such passion we could only dream of feeling a ounce of that fire.
I came to this keyboard to write, but never the story I tell myself I will, and write I do as I tell my story of what I perceive around me. Fictional love stories written by artist of television drama; my writing is more for my entertainment and less for mass production. My passion to write children’s stories seems to fade into the dark like a heavenly angel falling to earth; tattered wings, weakened, grace lost, a bright light that bled into the sky. In the time I spend talking to you I could have written a page or two for a story I claim I want to write -my actions speak louder than words, I have disappointed myself.
Edgar Allan Poe wrote up until he died and I believe that he knew the end was coming, I feel that we all do one some level and it is what drives me to the brink of sanity and reality. If only I was never a hypochondriac to begin with my life would have taken a totally different spin, I feel death is so near in everything I can’t appreciate the life around me as it is more than I can take in, a single glance out a window is ever changing in itself and each blink causing a loss in all that is beautiful in nature around us. I feel that I can’t ever be entirely honest because of how society views people with different views; I don’t want to go to the loony bin or be medicated for having a brain that processes differently than what studies would categorize as average -I have grown to hate the word normal.
I exaggerate, embellish, indulge in hyperbole of my life, every symptom is the worst case; I throw up I have been poisoned, I get sleepy out of the blue I must have diabetes, I get dizzy or have a headache it must be a brain tumor, so take my words lightly as the weight is only of words on a screen in front of you, not to take lightly of seriousness of any situations. That being said I feel poisoned and drained of all nutrients needed to live a healthy life, so I am making sautéd carrots and broccoli with chicken for dinner tonight. Butter and herbs with some garlic salt, wishing I had a lemon to squeeze on to the chicken for extra flavor, add some pepper to the protein too. One hell of a dinner!
