Me passing a truck when I drive
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To cry is to cleanse. To release the burdens of the day. To let them flow from your body. To collapse inside of yourself. To break down the walls built up so long. Oh I long to sob. A deep loneliness fills my being as I scramble around trying to find the tears to cry. But none come, and instead hate and anger fill the queue…
…But hate and anger are hardly cleansing. Mistakes gone unpunished are engraved into my mind, and there is no other way to get them out but to emboss them upon myself. It is an art. Finding just the right place and amount of pressure needed to impress the image upon something tangible. Recently it has been more accidental and instinctual rather than purposeful, though occasionally I have had to force myself to take it out on a white piece of paper with an angry red pen. It used to scare me, the things I could create as a result of my mistakes and shame. My creations seemed more destructive since they were the product of pain, rather than beauty. But then I realized how beautiful pain is. To create something means to feel emotions, and feeling emotions is the definition of human pain. And so even though the water does not run from my eyes, the liquid drips from the wounds in my heart. And though in the end, tears are wiped away easily, and it is almost effortless to excuse them, my imprints are the essence of what I feel, and on my body they shall stay.
Ray Kislem (via thechocolatebrigade)
The one thing we can never get enough of is love. And the one thing we never give enough of is love.
Henry Miller (via purplebuddhaproject)