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I'm not a graceful person. I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Doors

8 days to go.



The good thing about leaving is knowing that you have the courage to face the unknown.  The unknown and its anonymity that is infinitely vague. Isn't it orgasmic, that bewildering  feeling of anticipation, of being in control, of not being in control.  It is an open highway, and anything can happen.   You got to make it work, and not fall flat on your face for the world to revel on what they thought was a bad idea --- that risk is only for the fools.

They may be right you know just as you may be right,too.  Then again, isn't it amazing ... to see yourself get up, take those baby steps towards another place  of delicious ambiguity and the crazybeautiful mess you can create from it.  These you always say.  

But it's too early for that.   I'm sure there are many possibilities running wild inside your head.  The craving is too strong that it's jusz too much for negative energies lurking in some dark slimy corners of little minds.   You cannot be weighed down.  It is your point of exit,  it is the same place where you begin.

You own this and everything in it.

Here's to you who is never scared of doors.

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