بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
It is rarely abated as it runs in the blood like a virus. Where does weakness find rest? Words, a mere disguise for truth, yield nothing. Answers are no easier sought here and now than there and then. Stillness is an unachievable experience. But it wasn't. Is there something to be learned from the past? It is a wonder that what is missing was once a succulent fruit whose taste lingered enough to make each choice worthwhile.
Now every choice must be mistrusted. Every venture considered worthless. Every intention negligible. Every desire damned. Every thought flawed.
Perhaps it was said once not to give up, but instead to find the strength needed to straighten the strays. To grow in wisdom while facing doubts and inadequacies. To feed the heart more than paper-pleasing diction. To persevere despite turbulent weaknesses. The strength of such advice is faint. Ears no longer suited for such wise counsel.
Many speak to be heard, but patience in the face of blabbering is short lived. Rarities speak to honour the gift and blessing of communication. To say love is not to be love, but to live love is to proclaim it. Fanciful words that few to none can embrace or even deserve. How is it to read the same line of the same book and take rest in the same word but adorn such vitality with a ghastly interface?
Inspiration is lost in this drunken stupor. Veils are burdensome. Lights are securely blackened. Not a soul might understand the multiple layers of such coiled musings. Its meanings are twisted so tightly that not even the author can unravel them to the point of gainful clarity.
Indeed, a darkened heart is a secure witness to half of insanity.
It is rarely abated as it runs in the blood like a virus. Where does weakness find rest? Words, a mere disguise for truth, yield nothing. Answers are no easier sought here and now than there and then. Stillness is an unachievable experience. But it wasn't. Is there something to be learned from the past? It is a wonder that what is missing was once a succulent fruit whose taste lingered enough to make each choice worthwhile.
Now every choice must be mistrusted. Every venture considered worthless. Every intention negligible. Every desire damned. Every thought flawed.
Perhaps it was said once not to give up, but instead to find the strength needed to straighten the strays. To grow in wisdom while facing doubts and inadequacies. To feed the heart more than paper-pleasing diction. To persevere despite turbulent weaknesses. The strength of such advice is faint. Ears no longer suited for such wise counsel.
Many speak to be heard, but patience in the face of blabbering is short lived. Rarities speak to honour the gift and blessing of communication. To say love is not to be love, but to live love is to proclaim it. Fanciful words that few to none can embrace or even deserve. How is it to read the same line of the same book and take rest in the same word but adorn such vitality with a ghastly interface?
Inspiration is lost in this drunken stupor. Veils are burdensome. Lights are securely blackened. Not a soul might understand the multiple layers of such coiled musings. Its meanings are twisted so tightly that not even the author can unravel them to the point of gainful clarity.
Indeed, a darkened heart is a secure witness to half of insanity.
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