Precarious. She sat precariously teetering on the line of O.K., numb, and desperate for quite some time, but did not realize what the tipping point would be until she had pushed it beyond the boundary. It happened so quickly, and looking behind her, she wonders where the time has escaped to.
She opens herself. Surveying the contents, as if they were a disheveled drawer that contained all the contents for which she had been looking for. They were there all along, but she could not seem to find them, nor could she begin to grasp them or remember how to even use them.
Fog: A paralyzed state of mind, and sense of perception. Feeling detached from oneself, in a distorted sense of view.
It is in these moments, she casts her gaze within herself and draws upon obsolete emotion, that objects her to dark matter that only propels her further away. Or worse yet, she reaches within herself, and looks at the outer veil to see nothing. But. There are brief moments where the mirror finally cracks, and she is able to slip through to the surface gasping for air. The moments where the light reflects down ever so softly, and she sees with clarity the things that have come to be.
The situation at face value.
The girl she has forgotten, but also the Father who has been carrying her through this time.
I have refrained from writing for a little while, as my thoughts have been a dim sense of forged smiles, and inquisitive carefully strung together words. But as of late, I have been hiding myself away from but a few. I suppose one may call it embarrassment. A lapse, or setback. Oftentimes I find when I make a mistake, I use it to give me my strength, and propel me forward, but as of late- I feel the blame to be my own.
I won't carry the burden on myself anymore, and today I am washing my hands clean. I fight. I am a fighter. I want it, and I am still giving it my all even when I trip. And that's enough.
She opens herself. Surveying the contents, as if they were a disheveled drawer that contained all the contents for which she had been looking for. They were there all along, but she could not seem to find them, nor could she begin to grasp them or remember how to even use them.
Fog: A paralyzed state of mind, and sense of perception. Feeling detached from oneself, in a distorted sense of view.
It is in these moments, she casts her gaze within herself and draws upon obsolete emotion, that objects her to dark matter that only propels her further away. Or worse yet, she reaches within herself, and looks at the outer veil to see nothing. But. There are brief moments where the mirror finally cracks, and she is able to slip through to the surface gasping for air. The moments where the light reflects down ever so softly, and she sees with clarity the things that have come to be.
The situation at face value.
The girl she has forgotten, but also the Father who has been carrying her through this time.
I have refrained from writing for a little while, as my thoughts have been a dim sense of forged smiles, and inquisitive carefully strung together words. But as of late, I have been hiding myself away from but a few. I suppose one may call it embarrassment. A lapse, or setback. Oftentimes I find when I make a mistake, I use it to give me my strength, and propel me forward, but as of late- I feel the blame to be my own.
I won't carry the burden on myself anymore, and today I am washing my hands clean. I fight. I am a fighter. I want it, and I am still giving it my all even when I trip. And that's enough.
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