“Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt” -Kurt Vonnegut
To begin we must make some clarifications. A notice of love, or writing of love, is to be able to express your passion of something through words. We choose to fall behind the safety of our words to hide from the reality of actions. We choose to write about the things we are passionate about. We choose to love these things because they make us become more aware than we once were. I was told before, “every piece of writing is a love letter.”
Comfort Found in Discomfort
To be aware of a place where it all means nothing,
to also be where everything means too much.
Sinking deep to where anxiety resides.
Unknown to the human’s toes below.
A state at which reality seems intangible.
Trying to grasp the fading firmialtiries
to the comfortable feeling of hatred.
Fear lurks through the dream,
Ingrained into us is the known feelings.
Anxiety has at last become apparent,
for the devil has grasped tighter before.
Where everything hurt.
Where we locked ourselves in to see,
To see the pain others had missed,
Coming closer to a defeat by our misery.
We fell to a point where it was easier being hurt,
Than to realize all the beauty.
A sacrifice has become a way of living.
Where we forget how to love,
we forget how to be the person we were,
to solely enjoy the unknown.
To allow ourselves in,
to allow ourselves to be standing
face to face with our biggest misunderstanding.
Our unknown has become everything,
everything we were searching for,
and everything I was running from.
Consumed in a place of discomfort,
where our brains are unraveling,
and our fingertips crave more,
craving more than just the keys below them.
Satisfying the thrill of honest ignorance,
gained knowledge overpowers our fears.
