Focus. Carry yourself through the movements and the rhythms, the light and the dark, the sun and the moon shining on you as you stare into the sky every night and every day, not for answers but for distractions. Carry me away, you tell the stars. Carry me away because I can’t focus. Get used to the silence, to the droning of the wind like the sky, telling the world to remember you when you can’t remember the person you were just last week. Focus on the voices that enter the beats of the wind and stars as they sing to you. As they tell you to focus. Chase the pavements, chase the promises they tell you as you skin your knees. Someone was just around the corner, you tell yourself. Someone who could tell you to focus, someone who couldn’t sync themselves with the sun, the stars, and the wind. You remember them, but will you remember you? The definition of your rhythms is defined by their shadow, incapable of finding their definition without the sounds of others. In this atmosphere, yo
Experience teaches you that there is no such thing as a good or a bad person; there are only people who will hurt you and people who won’t. Labels and gossip often deceive us; we let the elementary judgments of others play into our logic. Their words are too imperceptive to gain value over analyzing their treatment of others and their treatment of you. When I walk on dark empty roads, I constantly look over my shoulder, wondering if there is someone following me. It is not because I know that someone is there, but it is because I know someone could be there. The same logic is applied to the nature of people. I am not cautious because I know they will hurt me; I am cautious because I know that they can. I suppose that is the logic that causes people to build walls and trenches around themselves. I gave up on understanding why people hurt others, and what they do to deserve such treatment. People are not mirrors, they are puddles; they do not copy treatment, but rather they warp it int