The fact of being loved was difficult: almost intolerable. Being loved wasIf I had a nickle for everytime someone expressed confusion at my relationship with him. A goth and a hippy? Basic principles were being challenged here. But what no one saw was the uncanny similarities. Sure we were on opposite sides of the stylistic spectrum, but we both had a mutual dismay at being stuck in the senseless middle. We both lived in excess, me in color him in black. I've learnt countless things I would never had even fathomed, on his behalf, and I am confident it is true both ways. It is a sacred consumation, when two worlds can be stitched together on the mutual attraction of mystery. When two bipolar worlds join, a new, more complete one is born, and this is known as paradise. And I can see paradise by the dashboard light.
letting others feed from your resources- all you had of life was put in
jeopardy. Maybe you had to give yourself away.
I feel like somewhere along my life there was a shift. Suddenly nothing was for fun any more, it was all necessary. Suddenly I'm bothering with what others think, afraid to link any connotations I deem negative to my being. Why do I care what people I've never met, who'll forget they ever saw me, think of me; this obscure stranger in their peripherals. It's a warped sense of mind and place, seeing the space around me in my mind's made up ways. So I stray away from everyone, isolating myself unwittingly, turning them against me. Self fulfilling prophecies, I succeed in creating this reality. I need to break free from my mind's mentalities, with which negativity has propelled me. So I've started a new sport. I call it neighborhood night dancing. Donning headphones and heading out alone to the empty streets as the city sleeps, and moving to the beat. Letting it compel me towards a freedom long gone missing. Letting go is an art. Complete release is a tough ...
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