Regardless of your gender, sexual preference, citizenship, religious bias, social status, income level or political views.. you’re a carefully crafted tangle of flesh and blood. A weighted mix of fierce and vulnerable; a wise blend of potential and limits. You are, all at once, beautifully unique and exactly the same.
I take on a new role from time to time; drinking down the lines like water and falling in love with the new cast.. and then suddenly, it’s showtime, and everyone knows when the show’s over except me.
Life was white-washed, glazed over and, while pleasant, fictitious. It read like fiction. The best way I can describe it: I felt like my spirit was constantly hanging half-way outside of my physical body, and I couldn’t figure out how to reel it back in and contain it. I couldn’t contain it because I wasn’t familiar enough with its true character to recognize it, and I definitely wasn’t open-minded enough to accept and welcome it for who it was.. and it knew that.
Who or what keeps telling me that I’m probably not enough, and that being single proves that I’m not enough?
I power-walked over to the aisle I’d first seen it on and it was, to my relief, still there, partially covered with and slightly obscured by a tacky, pink model of a convertible, a candle, and an old DVD set.