I have a burn mark on my heart left there by you.
And you might not even know who you are…
But I don’t know.
I believe I have left a mark of some sort on you as well. And it’s weird because I am proud of the marks I have and I am proud of the marks I have left.
The marks remind us that we are not supposed to be seamless, shining representations of a world that can never exist. We are here and the world is here with us. Or something. There is no separator there.
And those marks remind us of things that we might not want to forget… but then sometimes I feel like it would just be easy to keep my eyes focused forward and just keep my feet trailing one by one through the shifty sand below. All systems go, all paths lead to somewhere. They must. It’s one of those things that we rely on.
Otherwise, we will go crazy.
But, I believe I might go crazy, anyway.
Sometimes, I feel like I should just go crazy now. Sometimes, I feel like that might really be the goal. The goal. The goal.
Alive.
A lie.