I think it's important to share struggles with others in order to help the same types of people in their own lives. Heaven knows enough other people with struggles worse than mine have helped me in the past.
I Live For...
blurry sleepy eyed smiles fluffy white clouds in a baby blue sky crisp clean sheets pulled straight from the dryer your laughter and crooked smile
As his eyes shone with pain in the dark-filled night And the damage to his soul done, She whispered too quietly, don't go. Stay; fight,
Winds of Time
Memories and life events, I see you there dressed handsome And I realize time has passed and our lives, well you lead a separate one.
You are running through the paint splattered halls of an ancient building, stained vibrant from generations of artistry. Overlapping murals are painted on each wall molding the floors with the walls and the walls with the ceilings. Letting your fingers trail across the numerous brush strokes and layers of paint while your eyes wander everywhere, you take in each illustration. Every image tells a story about someone who used to live here, in this building. It is full of memories and ghosts from the past who continue to effect this present. A woman carries a small child on her back wrapped in blankets and sheets made of gold, a young girl runs through a field of wheat carrying a cherished doll, a musician carries stacks of sheet music to gift a prodigy, a mother grieves the loss of her child to cancer and a wanderer adventures through mysterious mountains towards heaven. As you let your fingers guide along the textures and fissures of these walls, you feel a pull to join these wandering souls. You enjoy the historical significance of the illustrations and feel the incredible pull of the memories stored in the cracks of the floors and the holes in the walls. You are a part of these paint splattered walls, leaving your own chinks in the plaster with the backs of your hands. You begin running faster and faster, while the images begin to turn into spirals of color as you run passed them. You sprint to catch up with the quickly depleting light at the end of the hall until everything fades to black.
I'm like a mirror, reflecting an incomplete image of myself into the world, trying to communicate. I'm like a bird, spiraling in the choppy wind, attempting a path to freedom.
Gone like the desired air that leaves my lungs breathless, Deflated from the weight of your foot on my chest, My mouth hangs open in shock as the pressure envelopes me
If I Could
I've never been much of a suave writer, but if I were to write I would write about the look in his steadfast blue eyes as he gazed upon his love, full of future promises and pure adoration.