Where are we but trapped in our own minds, lost in isolation?
My own little utopia, a place of quiet wrestling between thoughts and “squirrel,” attracted by distraction. An illusion, where memories live in hues that rise and fall with day replaying their scenery over and over, enticing me from one moment to the next, filled with words you’ve said and didn’t say; actions done and yet to play out, and the patience for them to come to fruition. Shadows of long forgotten triggered by little things, laughable…cryable.
O’Lord, blanket me in fearless love and consume this heart that has put up and torn down walls against light and darkness. Let it be here where our first steps begin again.
Here where I won’t be lost in my own isolation.
Keystroke Stories 