For shouldn't it be the number of fears added to your vocabulary,
instead of the number of years, that tell your age?
Because isn't it funny that my two year old nephew's favorite song is about war, death and destruction
just because it has the words 'Red Balloons' in it.

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The beauty of sandpaper is that
it makes rough things smooth
and smooth things rough.

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As if with their souls.

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Animals communicate so beautifully,
with their entire body, and not just their words.

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Repeat after me.
I can shun my ego and my desire for power,
Without undermining myself.

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Constantly fluctuating between
Am I too much?
And
Am I enough?

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Every now and then,
I lay in bed and ask myself a redundant question.
I ask myself why you aren't here.

I know why you aren't.
And yet,
every now and then,
I ask it.

I ask to make myself feel a certain kind of pain
that I think I should be feeling.
But because I know the answer,
it never really works.

And yet,
I ask it,
every now and then.

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Your only sense of permanence
are your past selves.
But what do you do when
you see them fluctuate.

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You could, but you don't HAVE to.

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