Paradoxical creature that I am, set on caring for the entire world yet hiding like a timid mouse in the corners of my complicated mind. What is one supposed to do when the heart can no longer handle such a massive amount of loving.
Teach me to stop running when the shadows loom frighteningly large, to accept the apparent favour of another. Please stop my ears from hearing what others cannot.
My eyes, they perceive meaning in things unmeant. Tile floors have shapes and house bricks display signs. As anxiety builds, sometimes the ground rushes up to meet me. And so I fall.
How is it that my ability to function varies so immensely?
WordPress has recorded over eleven hundred attempted writings on this space since its inception. At this moment, there are less than a hundred existing to do its own speaking.
While I am delighted that this space continues to thrive in its own queer way, I also know that there are stories in my discarded pile that have already become a part of me.
Been thinking about myself. Realised some things.
Fact 1: My eyes search for someone who reads. Higher chances of being spotted if the person is holding a physical book, but I catch those who read on electronic devices as well.
Fact 2: I will try to recognise the book. Either by the chapter title, the font, the book cover. The words on your electronic device. I may read along.
Fact 3: I’ll search it up if the aforementioned methods fail. It may become a part of my reading list.
Fact 4: As I walk past foreign stores, I may identify books that I know of in my language by their spines.
Ah. They are all about books.