Who would pick up a rose
Dying on the floor
Someone would because
Even in our urban jungles
A dying rose is still more beautiful than a concrete coffin that reaches the heavens
“The hardest battle we ever too fight is that between our own head and heart”
Wandering thoughts keep me awake throughout the night refusing to let me sleep, refusing to let me forget, refusing to give me silence and freedom from the pain that had burrowed so deep.
It would seem opening my very heart and soul to take the leap of faith has not only caused me to become more than what I once was but also expose me to the darker side of my thoughts and allow a seething hate to take its grip.
Seeing only lies and a shadow of a person I try desperately to break free from this path I am on.
The events of the past few days have caused a turmoil that I did not expect and brought with it a burning desire of curiosity, a question “why say what you have said, Is the truth so hard for you to speak…Are you that weak? just tell me the truth” My insatiable lust for knowledge and understanding that had protected me with logic was now starting to cause cracks in my armour.
“It’s funny really, that which keeps us safe can eventually turn against us without warning”
Fighting the temptation to send a message asking that one simple question required more strength than climbing the highest mountain in the eye of a storm.
Do I take the risk to find my answers?