scrawls
still cheaper than therapy*


16.12.14
Write my own fairytales.  Act like i know my own fairytales.  Remember how cold it always was upstairs? - remember how everything was always on the porch? - remember how i believed every word and every promise.  I think at the time it was even the truth.  Forgive them for that, liz.  Everybody's doing their best.  You believe that, on the good days.

And it'll never be so simple or so easy, but then, it never was, and will always be.  Illusion of reality, the impermanence of all things, what what.  If i am only one point towards a story of an illusion of reality ... one shouldn't be surprised, to get lost in a hall of mirrors.  Love is real - the love which resides (which begins) in my heart is real.  Start there.

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scrawled @ 15:27

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