A Family Around the House
I’ve always believed that everything in our lives has a story to tell. It’s not only the people who can speak but the things around us. I drive down a busy intersection and the road tells me the paths of so many others and as I persist on a lane of memories, I remember just how crazy, stressful, wonderful, and beautiful the year behind me was and the landmarks I passed along the way.
ksa writing
And I wished I were as brave as my writings. For I am given all the eternity of time to think, express, and feel before pen meets paper. But in the brief moments my lips need to move, they trembled in wonder not of thoughts but of voice and clarity.
writingPeople have become my amusement and in my solitude I have found how my vices take advantage of that. It is not boredom I struggle with but rather my yearning for interaction. It is not nostalgia that makes me walk the same old roads as much as it is the people I was with. It is an innate fear in all its entirety the most gripping I face. I sit here in eerie silence frightened not by shrieks of horror but by the sound of my own pondering thoughts.
writingWhat my eyes saw were just glacial tips. Her entirety was something so much more and poignant and unless I took a dive into those frigid waters, I would never know.
writingI wondered why time stood still for that second, why all the wrongs of the moments before suddenly didn’t matter and the girl in front of me was all that did. These were the thoughts that kept me up, not because I was worried with where I was going in life but why I was trying so hard, and just maybe, who I was trying for.
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