Looking in the mirror hard to like what I see. Its been a struggle since I was just a seed. the world telling me not to like what’s staring back at me. and I comply just like a programmed machine. What do I do when the world’s against me.
Me
The desert wind carries no promises, it simply is. Just like her, barren and quiet, carving her own path in the shifting sands of existence. There’s a strange comfort in that, a silent nod to what is, and what will be.
SLYSLY
He was an old man who fished alone in the gulf. His hands were calloused, his eyes weathered by the salt air. His battle wasn’t against the sea, but against the relentless passage of time.
mellowtonin
She listened to the murmurs of her past, echoes that spun tales of sorrow and joy. They were spectral whispers of what once was, remnants of a life she no longer claimed as hers.
human_esque
Like a watercolor painting left in the rain, we bleed into the canvas of existence. Merging, blending, losing ourselves to the chaos. This is the rhythm of life, the merging of identities into the great narrative of time.
Jaz
We are but leaves, helpless before the whims of the wind. We sway, we tumble, but in the end, we land where we must. There is a certain grace to this surrender.
arlo
i don’t want
you
to take
me
as
i am
i just want
you to
take
me
one way
or
another
Em
I’ve come to learn that this is a big word with magnanimous grace. Often it’s something that comes with resistance because it is borne out of no choice – you can’t believe and live with how things are now, but yet there is no alternative reality. It’s the conviction you have to grow within yourself when you touch base with reality and see that there are really no other pathways that are not an illusion except this one. You still have to continue living, thus perhaps the better option is to be at peace with whatever it is. It’s gritty, but I’d imagine that you would flow like water after that, as you allow life to just be.
Looking in the mirror hard to like what I see. Its been a struggle since I was just a seed. the world telling me not to like what’s staring back at me. and I comply just like a programmed machine. What do I do when the world’s against me.
The desert wind carries no promises, it simply is. Just like her, barren and quiet, carving her own path in the shifting sands of existence. There’s a strange comfort in that, a silent nod to what is, and what will be.
He was an old man who fished alone in the gulf. His hands were calloused, his eyes weathered by the salt air. His battle wasn’t against the sea, but against the relentless passage of time.
She listened to the murmurs of her past, echoes that spun tales of sorrow and joy. They were spectral whispers of what once was, remnants of a life she no longer claimed as hers.
Like a watercolor painting left in the rain, we bleed into the canvas of existence. Merging, blending, losing ourselves to the chaos. This is the rhythm of life, the merging of identities into the great narrative of time.
We are but leaves, helpless before the whims of the wind. We sway, we tumble, but in the end, we land where we must. There is a certain grace to this surrender.
i don’t want
you
to take
me
as
i am
i just want
you to
take
me
one way
or
another
I’ve come to learn that this is a big word with magnanimous grace. Often it’s something that comes with resistance because it is borne out of no choice – you can’t believe and live with how things are now, but yet there is no alternative reality. It’s the conviction you have to grow within yourself when you touch base with reality and see that there are really no other pathways that are not an illusion except this one. You still have to continue living, thus perhaps the better option is to be at peace with whatever it is. It’s gritty, but I’d imagine that you would flow like water after that, as you allow life to just be.