Forgiveness book

She’s been writing words for you, filled with leaves and stems. Carving with her solitude, but you will never hear them.

Captivate the loneliness that became a part of she, but acquire the fate you’ve trekked so far to flee.

Expect this to last through the cold winter hue, so harbor in the freedom of defeat. Let her veins keep beating to the vast over needing of all of the secrets you knew.

Stack the forgiveness into books you have written, and scribble your mind on her lips. Lay her to sleep on the bed that you keep hidden in your grandfathers shed.

Read her the words you’ve kept for the birds, and whistle them until you are dead.

I have the tendency to fall in love with the way people interact. How they form their words, as if breathing invisible whispers that are to be swept up by the wind, never to be felt again. Like a tree, quietly swaying in the whispers, I sit and wait to be directly spoken to, or asked a question. I have this fascination with sitting in the background and observing how people stand and move, while they inadvertently chisel their existence permentantly on my skull. Reasons to why I am so obliviously caught up in things as such escape me. Maybe it's because I've been to afraid to live it out; I'm too afraid to walk up and live out what I am so earnestly trying to discern. I'm too afraid to let my branches grow, and intertwine with all of creation surrounding me.

Ingenuously Beguiled

Something as petty and equivocal as allowing myself to adorn movements and gestures that are unfulfilled by the negligence of others, insinuate some attempting to deliberately make arduous what is already exhausting. I am not here to slander ones who inadvertantly induce austerity upon the lives of others, but I am not here to exalt them either. I believe, once all who endeavor to create bona fide occurrences in others lives, have the responsibility to not only speculate their actions, but be perceptive of the life one is pursuing to better(Whether it is theirs, or someone else’s).

It’s merely commonplace to yearn to embark on expeditions that are wholly and equitable. Though, the action that I find most humble is to grasp the fact that sometimes, we as humans, are not capable of such honorable standards. The universe and all of it’s boundless aspects is far beyond anything man can comprehend, therefor we must become content with the all of the unknowing around us. We must differentiate between the External and the Internal. Internal, being the knowledge we think we know, and the External being the knowledge that is; the real, authentic knowledge that is known only partially by man, and fully by something more omniscient and equip. Something worthy of All.

being

This isn't going to be very advanced or intellectual because I am not advanced or intellectual. This isn't going to be interesting or captivating because I am not interesting or captivating. This isn't going to happy or sad because I am not happy or sad. This isn't going to filled with emotion and depth because I am not emotional or deep. This isn't going to here or there because I am not here or there. This isn't going to be unique or different because I am not unique or different. This is not going to be good or bad because I am not good or bad.

How about this is.
How about I am.