Lilmag
I never had them, and never wanted them. Sometimes I want silky locks falling around my face, something to tuck behind my ear, but never braids. They remind me of Pippi Longstocking, and much as I love her, I don't want to look like her.
Thirteen ten thirteen. Big effing deal. I am in a bad mood. I have a date with rage and with resentment. You could say it's a menage a trois, and those are never pleasant, not really. Someone almost always comes out of those things wounded.
Mostly in summer, but sometimes in winter, too. I often feel this way after my evening walk. They lied to me. They said exercise is exhilarating and that it works as an anti-depressant. It leaves me wilting instead. This is not fair, but then life and nature are not fair, are they? The flowers wilt too, but only when they've wilted can something new bloom.
High strung is something I used to be. Pearls strung around my neck is something I've never known. But never wanted to know, really. I prefer white gold. And these days I'm not high strung or even strung out. Just calm and content, I don't need the pearls or the gold.
I have eaten a bagel only once. Since then, whenever I hear the word mentioned in conversation (not often) or on TV (quite often) I wonder what all the fuss is about. Bagels taste like stale doughnuts, many days old. .
Truth means I stop writing when the blue line hits the end of the page. What I say in this time is true. The more time I spend writing between the point where the blue line ends and the gong goes off, and the the point where I click Send, the less truth in my words.
Truth is the only thing that matters. Well, truth and death. And death is a truth, even if we live our whole lives pretending it isn't. If you follow truth, you can live without fear. If you live without fear, you're ready for death whenever it comes. Truth is all you need.
In the cities, you can be no one. It doesn't matter. We have our celebrities and they are our gods and we the ants that may be trod upon. In a village there are no celebrities. In a village there is a community and every member is celebrated as they are.
Covert is me! It's my life! This existence within another, hidden away, and never to be seen or known or recognised. It's awful, and yet that is the only way to be. Covert, and a bit sad about it, but all the same accepting that this is who I am, and how I am.
Now a convert might be covert about his conversion. He might cover it up, which is just another way of saying he is covert about it, which is what I've already said. When covert things get converted, they aren't covert, they're wide open for everyone to see. And that's what covert means.
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