Member-only story
Free verse prose on what I’ve been thinking
people are complicated. layers and layers of blurs in personalities until you finally reach the core. sometimes the same sentences are no longer phrases. they begin to sound like tunes slowly vanishing somewhere along with the sounds of silence and wind. people are what you make them to be. nothing more, nothing less.
we only look at things the way we want to. we seldom try to understand. understanding is somewhat like the summer sun. it rises each morning — we wake up happy as it cracks through our windows and complain when it burns. we want to understand what makes us happy and have nothing else to do with it.
things. we want too many of these. to fill voids. to fill our homes. do we understand that things collect dust? and they require to be looked after. things, the ones that feel none and experience none — we spend our time chasing them. we turn into the people we always were. this materialism was a growing fetus we willingly birth. then we nourish it and love it. and when it gives us nothing in return, we wonder where we went wrong.
silence is great. words are not needed to be spoken, all the time. many times, you ought to stay silent and absorb what is being said. digest it. think about it. and if it is worth your time, respond. i have mastered this. silence has been a loyal…
