tragically about the author
03/15/2009 07:55 a.m.
I’ve never been able to explain the fear that makes me wake up from a terrifying dream twitching violently and screaming in something that sounds like some forged tongue language out of a Georgian church. Never, have I been able to communicate The painful void in my heart that keeps caving in with the sands of surrounding doubt until the emptiness becomes an antidote for those who hate the saying “ignorance is bliss”. And I have undoubtedly never communicated the feelings inside that make me stare blankly at a person’s lower lip while they try to explain their day. It all felt tragically insignificant to me. I know now that I was distracted my whole life trying to fill the gaps in my memory with a sequence of events that made some kind of chronological and simply logical sense. I know now that the answer to my uncountable racing thoughts per second, words, images, and blurry question marks, could all be explained so easily as it rolled off the lips of my father. A smacking sound that came out on the top of my head. I know this now and I’m writing in hopes to remember the sound of forgiveness. The problem however was that I never mocked the sound.
I am currently Detached
I am listening to "vindicated"