Thoughts form and break away. There is no longer the certainty. There is just fear - the eye of the mind searching the horizon frantically, looking for signs of danger that may or may not be there; but the trepidation forever exists, for the invisible always represents the unknown, which is to be feared. But worse than such an abstract note of caution struck by what might even be reasonable thought would be the impulses of irrationality that stream through you at moments of conversation, where you aren't sure what's real and isn't. Sometimes, what you hear sounds too good to be true; and then, you wait for the other shoe to drop and some misfortune to befall you. There seems to be a lack of an ability to appreciate the good things, because being skeptic (and let's be honest - this world gives you a lot more to be skeptical than optimistic about) means that such enjoyment is curtailed.
Words.
ReplyDeleteAnd then more.
This is what's appealing about your writing.More so on these ones:
-The end.Almost always a hidden smile about the Truth of one's existence.Not assaulted by the realms of the relative.Neither reactive nor provocative.Just.
-Not the words.But the essence.And the experience.Like writing about silence.
But then,(my)subjective biases mostly pervade dignified understanding of what the writer's conveying.
Blah.