Wednesday, April 26, 2006 She picks up her embroided journal and begin to write her first word. She scratches it off. Then the next word. Scratches it off again. She wants to feed her soul, the only food she years are those made up with words. Words are her life, her outlet to the emotions conjured up, the trials and tribulations of everyday life.
She's bursting with a spectrum of emotions that want to be let out, but her avenues are closed for some reason. The doors she once could open freely has been locked, and the key is lying on the table just beside them. Peace and happiness came knocking on her door, but she hasn't got the ability to let them in yet. she dosen't hold the key in her hands for the time being. She has to be strong enough to break free of all doors before her avenues opens up again. Superficiality kicks in, taking control of her thoughts adumbrated by the actualy truth. Can peace and happiness swing by, or is it for us to look. The beauty of the chase would be attaining it with sheer effort. if it comes easy, what can guarantee it won't go in such a manner. Is the key to peace and hapiness actually staring her in the face, under her nose all the while, or is it really outside?
She's left in the middle...She has to go down the meandering path alone. Long strenuous journey. She's helped many cross this hurdle. Who's going to help her...
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