hostile-empathy

 At one point: decision coming in the form of a smile, that said, start living.

There are thousands of things I'd experience, so much better if, only I could somehow create a personal self-recorder. That I would manage to keep my promises. There is nothing - absolutely nothing - that cancels out my love, for everything that I truly feel lucky, in having the greater fortune many perhaps cannot afford. Yet, it all makes perfect sense to me, why now, the surrounding area of a subjective nature I have no control over. I simply equate this to myself. That everything I give on the outside, does not translate to what has been given, in effect, to what takes place on the inside of such imagery.
These words articulate something, rather profound in the way's I think about almost everything in my life. Yet, I feel so far from the ocean, which to me, comes through a thought of extreme fascination. That is exactly how I would describe looking through a dark window, in search of a light house so to speak, on a vessel with the water beneath?! Though sometimes the water is without buoyancy(depending on which way I were to look at it), is this the same view we all get from that? Do you make a choice, which involves great strength, to form an opinion on that which guides you on your path? I find it fairly strange, if this weren't the case favoring mostly, those which cast off shore not so distant from the same shadow's that leave them feeling lost at sea.

However, this spotting marked with an 'x' on the desired treasure map, is a map, hard to find, but is still a map. Perhaps, one with the journey of a pillow attached to the day-dreamer stamped across my forehead. That the ending is nowhere near in sight, but I am in everybody else's is just an obstacle simply to diminish (Obstacles I overcome) it lasts.

That is exactly where, everything in my life feels so extraordinary in so many ways. Yet, when I realize that. If I do reach the surface. If I ever get there.

This is where I've always imagined myself. Being here on the bridge. Next to me is an island. It is where I feel more of the safe things in life. From crossing the ship onto a deck, I would like to break from the voyage, to forget the truth, or despair of what I did. Have I failed to accomplish? It all leads out of that same question, but my yearning must only reveal how I've never changed, that I've remained the same from a far-reaching distance. It - it is filled with resolve and no general purpose. Some would resort to this as anguish, I prefer to call it bitter-sweet agony of time, though it is filled with romance of some memorable quality.

I suppose this is an invaluable aspect, between vulnerability and the answer I think is in play - like a ripe piece of fruit, though not to avoid it's benefit. My misguided almost trivial sense. I free my mind based strictly against hostility, breaking free, to see if there is a passion which can honor the air in such decorative atmosphere. No need for performance, ritual, or deception of any kind. Maybe, only a fear that it'd be left behind is required? Simply for the nostalgia? I think on these terms, making it easier for me to understand nearly everything. Even if not everyone believes it. It's how I feel safe.

Into my early twenties and throughout, now to my early thirties, I always saw the movement of others as they were changing somehow meant something, without the same reflective qualities. Like it's been a forgotten capsule lost in time. Once they've dispersed, some truly signify what others do not. Some hold onto what they appear (to me, anyway) as genuine, without weighing heavily against the odds. Other's still. . . define their character in ways not forthcoming , but refer to more isolated traditional roles of a psychological make-up bag. I suppose the trick is of no infinite order or variety, though, happiness is a choice in the matter after all.