lillithvain

It's a hard thing to write something that is real: that comes from your soul and touches something within that you didn't know existed. I do that sometimes. I write like that. It's a part of me that's hidden deep within the existence of words and the substance of feelings. I have this burning inside telling me to just get it out: scream it to the world.

I am alive inside and I feel what you assume I don't understand.

I have journals and journals of real thoughts, that never get read. I guess that is the way there were meant to be, for, who would understand the depths of me anyway?

I was looking at my lj today and I have several post that can only be read by me. Intricate, inquisitive impressions of life and changes. And, I ask myself; why is it that I hold this beautiful symbols of life away from everyone else.

And I know; I know it will hurt. Not me, but you. It is honest and real.

Honesty and reality are biting evil things that most everyone seeks to avoid. Even you out there that tell yourselves that you have something real that you live something real, search deep: there is more in there that you aren't letting out. The truth of the existence of something you never tell because it will hurt: you or another. It will hurt.

Well I implore you to dig that out of there and let it out. Be the light that brings the earth to glare up to you and squint their eyes, knowing.... they could never be the light.

I could never be the light. I don't want to hurt any of you. I'm a chicken to face what might be real and might be mistakes.

Are you?

And there you have one of my truths: one of the only ones I can give without hurting someone else.

Take it as you see fit.