Confessions : Of Uncertainty

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The whirlpool of “what ifs” is terrible. Running around in circles of uncertainty can make even the most confident person falter their step. I’m not sure when I wrote this little piece, for I have moved far too many times to far too distant places, dreamed of it even. But now that I re-read it, the timing seems apt and a love far too real gets left behind again.

 

 

 

 

 

This is a part of Confessions Series. Written and forgotten in old sketchbooks, bought to life again here.

Confessions : Of Falling Apart

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Sometimes I just can’t edit my larger monologues into shorter crisper versions. Sometimes I’m just too attached to the documented version of me.  Anyway, Falling apart is a process not a singular event. So might as well immerse yourself in the process,right?

 

 

 

 

This is a part of Confession Series, written in old sketch books revived to life here.

Confessions of: Murder

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I don’t indulge much  in reminiscing about the old times these past few months, but this still holds true. Sometimes it feels like my memory space is too small to catalog everything we say or do to other people or what they say to us, so I end up silently murdering all the other glorious memories of others in haste to provide space for the memories of present, however fleeting it may be.

Confessions : of Survival

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When everything else failed, all I had become was a product of survival. I wrote this as a excerpt to somebody who needed a push or was that a pull from the edge of darkness that people experience occasionally. The strength we draw from our own self is infinite, sadly it is easy to forget it too. May all of us survive another year with all its endless highs and lows.

This is a part of confession series, written in old sketch books revived and bought to life here.

Confessions: of Giving up

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They say that you find what you seek.  And I might not find what I want for I know not what to seek, but that’s okay. I gave up on this endless search for another person until I’ve come to terms with living with myself.

This is a part of a Confession series, where old memories and thoughts of the past left behind in my old sketchbooks are bought to life here.

Open and Shut

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Here, is where you shouldn’t be.

Sneaking upon my senses,

Clouding yourself with my vagueness,

Withholding all your pristine thoughts.

 

You don’t share here,

In this one-way street,

I need you to leave,

Before you witness me bleed.

 

I can’t see you here,

Flaunting that ugly smile,

Overwriting my fears with your witty thoughts.

 

I shut my eyes to make you disappear,

Your shadows remain,

Snaking through the voids,

That I had no knowledge of.

 

I need you to go,

I need you to close everything,

Just,

Leaving the door of memories ajar.