They are given to fleeting moments in public recently. Small and salty droplets that squeeze their way from part of my soul and float down my cheek. Whisked away at the panic someone might see.
They only make their true appearance late in the evening when guards have been dropped and safety is found behind closed doors and dimmed lights.
The questions surrounding their appearance is just as strange to you as it is to me. Generally the motivation behind their display is easy to answer but lately an answer to this question is highly perplexing.
As their owner I feel as though the reasons ought not be so difficult to discover.
Alas, they may not be. It is the task of honesty that I find the true conflict lies in.
Peering at their sudden occurrences, I consider that the thought of a missed holiday really isn't so terrible. My love for an overstuffed avian in most american ovens is hardly cause for waterworks.
The picture, blog, or comment that elicits a similar response can scarcely be connected to a season or lack of sleep
What then is the cause of these escape artists appearing more often that I am comfortable with?
It is there, at the base of the question mark; the small dot that I've discovered their hiding place. Not a full stop but that small part the completes a strange hook at the end of what would have been otherwise a disorganised statement.
At the end of questions begin the lack of answers. At the end of questions begins the dark birth of doubt. It is there these fugitives reside.
Questions of self worth. Questions of purpose.
It is in these small dots that droplets are birthed, I am fully convinced.
In the comprehensive unhappiness at the answer I have found.
Answers pooling around in my head begin to make escape once more.
How does one measure a feeling? Can you use a ruler? Does it weigh?
More questions that wont matter at days break.
Just the acknowledgement at these questions help.
Recognition of their existence was simply what they wished.
There truly is beauty in the breakdown.
They only make their true appearance late in the evening when guards have been dropped and safety is found behind closed doors and dimmed lights.
The questions surrounding their appearance is just as strange to you as it is to me. Generally the motivation behind their display is easy to answer but lately an answer to this question is highly perplexing.
As their owner I feel as though the reasons ought not be so difficult to discover.
Alas, they may not be. It is the task of honesty that I find the true conflict lies in.
Peering at their sudden occurrences, I consider that the thought of a missed holiday really isn't so terrible. My love for an overstuffed avian in most american ovens is hardly cause for waterworks.
The picture, blog, or comment that elicits a similar response can scarcely be connected to a season or lack of sleep
What then is the cause of these escape artists appearing more often that I am comfortable with?
It is there, at the base of the question mark; the small dot that I've discovered their hiding place. Not a full stop but that small part the completes a strange hook at the end of what would have been otherwise a disorganised statement.
At the end of questions begin the lack of answers. At the end of questions begins the dark birth of doubt. It is there these fugitives reside.
Questions of self worth. Questions of purpose.
It is in these small dots that droplets are birthed, I am fully convinced.
In the comprehensive unhappiness at the answer I have found.
Answers pooling around in my head begin to make escape once more.
How does one measure a feeling? Can you use a ruler? Does it weigh?
More questions that wont matter at days break.
Just the acknowledgement at these questions help.
Recognition of their existence was simply what they wished.
There truly is beauty in the breakdown.
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