I don't know where the words came from, so I asked myself - could passion be a case between acquiring my basic voluntary movement, then to, a much deeper opinion of myself. What would I say. It's scary not to think of myself in such perfect circumstances. It's having a conversation with yourself, whether it be negotiable or not, perhaps it's implicit of me to say that is so. Most of these inhibitions, are drawn from the ground up. Rooted from a need to contact something or someone much as a gopher, pops it's head out to see what is the matter, then returns to it's subterranean environment. Clever creatures they are. However, meaning without words is a constant reminder of unfulfilled satire. What truly matters. So you fill the void with meaning of some infinite variety. Only you can't escape from it. It is kind of like travel, some prefer not to - while other's take plane rides for specifically unknown plausibility.
I so often think - how impractical this situation of resistance plays a part of my life. Which way am I turning, where am I going, that in truth - it's such a bad habit. Yet - I experience this idea on my own, only to find it lost. Finding myself lost - might be a good idea. So I stick to that.
The sensation of being found after hiding, is cause for a relevant concern, or something immaterial that provides you a sense of response, where you forge a relationship. Each or every certain presumption, I sit there, observing it's pristine or engaging nature. It's in fact a matter of presumption. Everything might hang by a thread, a position of discretion, a cause for uncertainty, it has no other choice to make.
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