If I wrote all the questions building up slowly inside me on little white slips of paper and put them all in dark lil mysterious box....and if i believed enough in this magic and the solving power of the soul and spirit in me that God created, would they all be answered? Or would the mere act of putting such inquiries and frustrations away like glass bottles dropped into the endless depths of the deepest lake be like solving them in themselves?

Memories are the most living of all treasures, such treasures can never be lost or broken..

Nothing Less

I long to be free, I long to be broken. To feel each pulsing vein under my skin rushing, waiting to burst. Flood acid on my soul, I want to feel something. Feel your caress, hear your sure words.
We are so broken and lied to, even in the things we thought were stalwart granite rock beneath our soft searching feet. I'm waiting, clawing through soil to reach the roots of my beliefs, to feel their stringy sureness on my aching fingertips, make sure they are real. We all love a little mystic. To know that there is something out there for a purpose beyond ourselves, some way we can control whether we live or die inside. Take me on an endless treasure hunt. Catch me a star in a big glass bottle so I can tuck it to my chest and feel its warmth. I want to be amazed, nothing less.