The World

I could show you the world.
But If I lose my legs,
Or don’t have the money,
Promise you won’t get bored..
Of me. 

Right now money’s a struggle.
I had two weeks off work,
But that last paycheck wasn’t double.
I can’t say I’m broke, but I’m fighting off injury.
‘Cus yesterday I woke, having slept through misery. 

It could always be worse,
But in cold days remorse,
I wish I had more money.

My brothers went skiing today.
I was invited along, my mom offered to pay,
But I’m trying to be a man, I can’t work that way.
Leave handouts for the needy, and food for the poor.
I don’t want to look greedy, but I ask God for more.

Because I could give you the world.
But if I lose my mind, and don’t have the money,
Promise you won’t get bored.

I dream so big, but doubt so much,
Like an old man’s wig, pulled out as such.
Do I work as hard as I should?
If the proverbial man could grow it again; he would.

But do I rely too much on faith?
Do I risk my dream just dying?
My future self is just a wraith.
To be him now, I’m trying.

Death to myself. My faith needs work.
I’ll buy breathe off the shelf, or just ask the clerk.
‘Cus some days it’s tough to breath.
It’s rough to think you might just leave.
Especially now that I let you believe…

I can show you the world.

If I’m a millionaire or hotter,
Or I pay my bills with air and water,
Know I need to know you’ll stay.
Stay here, the way fear lays near when you’re gone.
Now, don’t get me wrong.
I’ll give you my best and always put you first,
But laid down to rest when I’m dead at my worst…

…I long to show you the world.
But if I don’t have the money,
Promise you won’t get bored..
of Me. 

Flowers

Let me in, I’ll close the door. I’ll pick your heart up off the floor. 

Show me your eyes, before everything dies, can we talk? Just a bit more?

The flowers on the porch have wilted, as the seams of your soul have split; like your heart did. 

Pour blood on the medicine. Dissolve it. Dissect our problem and solve it. 

You’re gaping with wounds but you’ve stitched up your lips.

Alcohol consumes what your mouth won’t slip. 

Please… Don’t make me leave you here.

You must believe… I understand your fear. 

I wrap your quilt around your shoulders, with my guilt on ash; it smolders. 

The flowers, wilted, lose their colors. Speak to me. 

I’m not afraid, of the reflection in your eyes, like you are. Let me see. 

I know you reflect on the lies that split us, far; you and me.

I’m sorry. 

Please… Don’t make me leave you here.

Believe… I never meant to be your fear. 

Kill me… I’ll shut my mouth so they won’t hear. 

I’m good. You?

I passed by my Dentist, walking opposite directions in the grocery store isle. It took each of us a second to recognize each other, for I was not on my back with a paper towel around my neck; and He was not in his scrubs, or wearing those spy goggles he rocks on a daily basis. We did notice each other however, and in passing, a simple: “Hey!.. How are you?.. Good!” was all we exchanged.

He had slowed down more than I, and he would have no doubt stopped and had a conversation with me, if I slowed down as well. I kinda regret now, not stopping to say more, but he read my body language properly. It’s past dark, on a thursday, at a grocery store . I’m here to shop, not to socialize. 

I’ll see him in a couple of months.

As I got into my car however, my mind grew sporadic.  What if he really wanted to talk? It seems so unlikely (I’m a twenty-some year old bachelor. A patient of his; but only because my mom provides family dental insurance, etc.) but honestly, what if he wanted to say more than “Good” ?

Beyond my dentist, in the grocery store..

“good”.

What does that even mean?

I’ve heard it said before, by pastors and comedians, but what does it mean when you say “I’m good”.?.

…”I’m not comfortable telling you how my life is right now, and even if i was,

you’re probably not interested anyways.. so.. ‘good’.. I’m ‘good’…”

?

Oh, how callused we have become.

Are we all too self absorbed? Too self conscious?

We approach each other with a fear of the expression of how we feel,  simultaneously apathetic of the fears and feelings of those we have approached.

Or is it simply a waste of our time..  (?)

 

With all this (and more) on my mind, I begged the question of myself. Was I honest?

“I’m good”.

I have been doing a lot of self reflection lately. I tend to flip one of two ways.

I am incredibly blessed, life is good, God is faithful, the people around me are supportive and loving.

 – or –

I’m not good enough, ever.

Allow me to analyze, and explain.

For the most part, both are true. The change in my mood is dependent on which of these two near-facts I choose to dwell on.

I cannot even decide, in this moment, which of these to explain first..

I am incredibly blessed. There is no denying that. My parents are still together, they are loving and supportive. All my siblings are responsible, and kind; well put-together individuals. I have a tight knit crew of very close friends, many of which are off on their own life ventures,  growing fluent in adulthood. I have a steady, respectable job, with good hours and a very appreciative boss. I do not go hungry, and I have a place to sleep every night. I’m good.

The flip-side however. I have to include this, because despite these being terrible reasons to get depressed, I often overthink my own circumstances, and grow tired.

I’m a college dropout. I live in an old house, in which I split rent with roommates. I am not married, or even close. My savings account is almost entirely made up of tax returns. I still owe money, to my parents, for my car. I don’t know where I see myself in five years. I am in my early twenties, but I feel like I was seventeen just yesterday. I have been out of high-school for nearly as long as I was in, and I have nothing to show for it. I’m ‘good’.

If you have read this far, understand, I am not looking for a pat on the back, or your pity. And please don’t scold me either.

 

I take everything for granted.

I sit here at my desk, writing this blog, observing the metaphorical Pros & Cons list of my life, and I am good.

*Let me google that for you.. 
good
ɡo͝od/
adjective
  1. To be desired or approved of.
    “we live at peace with each other, which is good”
  2. Having the qualities required for a particular role.

 

I’m good. I mean that. To anyone remotely interested, or myself, reading this from the future. 

I’m good.

I often struggle with anxiety, and depression, like the future is some mystical journey in which I am tried and tested, for weakness and flaws. Like life is some kind of game for which I have never trained, or been told the rules.

And while in a sense, it is.. I’m prepared.

When I look back on where I was just two or three years ago, having just dropped out of college, and moved out. Living with roommates I did not get along with. Working a minimum wage job with higher-ups who did not appreciate me. Eating ramen noodles and frozen pizza rolls day and night… When I look back…

..I’m good!

Since the last week of december, I have Ran, every weekday before work for 10-20 minutes, and 45 minutes on Saturdays.

The only thing on my debit card over the past two weeks has been coffee and gas, not because money is tight, but because I have everything I want, and I regularly cook myself full meals at home.

I also make a 16 oz smoothie almost every day. They’re delicious. Yogurt, Berries, Milk, Orange Juice, Oatmeal, and Kale or Spinach, the occasional Kiwi.

I even started using mouth wash (or whatever you call it) after I brush and floss, which is something I have not done consistently, since my dentist made me, as a kid.

In the 8 months of my books existence, in 2014, I wrote 4 chapters. In all of 2015 I wrote 7. In these short 2 months of 2016, I have written 3. At this rate, I may finish writing it before 2017. Which would be amazing!

..and the list goes on and on.

At this point, the conclusion I would like to make, at risk of being too repetitious..

is I’m good. Ha!

When we push aside our fear of the future, the present becomes so much more clear. Wake up in the morning, breathe in the sunrise, and let the daylight put to sleep your nightmares.

I can look back at every moment of my life, including the most grand of them all, and think.. I’m better off.

Just because I am not moving as fast as I might like, and I have no idea how I got here, and I have no idea where I’m going.. does not mean I have any excuse to panic.

My mind is an endless game of tug-o-war, and here I pour water, on the solid ground, of the side I wish to lose.

My life is going by a plan, divine, and I have not one reason to be discontent.

I’m Good.

So, next time I ask someone how they’re doing, they’re going to respond:  “I’m good” .. and I’m going to pull them aside, look them in the eyes, and ask again..

“How are You?..”

I want to be the first stranger, in their entire life, to really care.

..How are you?

Adrenaline Junky

I Dont Want to Be Afraid.

I’ve jumped off tall rocks and structures before. You stand on top with the water far below. A close friend, close beside.

The rock, the cliff, or bridge, the water… It’s daunting.

You both laugh, poke, pretend to shove one another over the edge like its all a big joke.

Oh, Don’t fall! 

You both know its not life or death, it’s only water. Nonetheless, its frightening.

Since neither of you wants to jump first, you both flirt. You flirt with the water. Sick to your stomach in anticipation. The sinking feeling as you fly with gravity. The flood waiting for you at the bottom. Fear.

Eventually the wind picks up, and it becomes apparent to you both; that you must either jump, or call it a day and go home.

On three, or one after the other, you both agree to take the fall.

Leaving the ground beneath you, only to have it soar over your head, is a panic. The air burns your skin, before the surface knocks the wind from you lungs, and the water is all too cold.

One of two things happens.

Always.

 

  • I look back up at the sky above me, only to realize, my friend has in fact; not jumped. They found another way down. I am alone.

 

  • Rising to the water’s surface, they are already swimming to shore. No remarks about the journey. My friend is gone. I am alone.

 

 

I bob up and down on the waves of impact, staring from a distance with confusion. The water feels so far up into my head, I can’t breath from my nose. I cough. The water is cold, my hands and feet are numb, swimming becomes difficult. I’m alone.

The trip back to shore is much longer than the jump, and the memory thereof aches longer than the climb.

 

I can only think to myself:

Why did I jump?

Why did I even climb up there in the first place?

Should I have known better?

 Why?.

              Why?!.

                           Why.

                                          …

 

To be clear; I don’t hate the fall, and the water is not always cold.

But that jump..

The jump will forever be the most difficult part, and hopefully, someday..

I will not be left drowning at the bottom, alone.

The Bleeding of My Babbling Heart

Letters.

Never sent.

Letters.

In the hand of my own worst enemy.

Letters.

Don’t let her see them. Don’t let anyone see them. Please. 

With a smirk on his face, he holds them over the edge.

“I will drop them”. He says.

Rain upon the crowd, my thoughts, my emotions. Rain on the world my planned out speeches of romance and love, never to be heard. Never to be spoken.

Rain. The tears of my eyes. The storm in my heart.

Please, No. 

The world can’t even look up. Completely unaware. My entire mind, everything unspoken, written.

Letters.

What if she finds them. Will she know they’re for her?

 

Still staring at me from the edge, His look hasn’t changed. He knows what is written. He has memorized every word. He has no way of knowing the passion behind them, but to him none of it makes any sense, anyways.

“I will drop them” He says once more.

The force inside me stops my breath short. The agony, the fire, the dread. The thought of trekking paths unknown.

Drop them. 

Go ahead. Let the world see. The core of my being. My soul cut open, served on a silver platter. Go ahead. Drop them.

Maybe she’ll understand. Maybe she’ll feel the same. Maybe she will be the first and only person to read the letters, and she will cherish them forever. Yes.

His face finally changes.

It is I.

Standing on the edge. Letters in hand. Sadistic smirk on my face. I look at myself, with a look of pleasure at my own discomfort, and  I once again cringe.

“I will drop them.”  I say.

No. Please no. 

My arms wrap around my head. Not far enough. This shell of a body covers, not enough of my being, as I long only for total seclusion.

Burry me alive.

Run my fingers through my hair. Turn in my sleep.

 

I have not written any letters.

But how dare I show her; whats written on my heart.

I stare myself down, standing on the edge, threatening myself.

“I’ll drop them”.

A sick joke.

Go ahead. Tell her. Spell it all out. Let the world know.

No.

No human being ever understands.

Not her. Not you. Not me. Nobody.

 

Letters.

If only it were all that easy.

 

I let them go.

Day, After Day… After Day.

I love, love, love, what the Above Love does,

Upon us, ever longing of Above Love’s Love.

 

I panic on a regular basis.

Take my hand. I don’t want to fall. Can I even trust one more step?

Are there any guarantees the ground before me won’t just crumble?

Life is a terrible dream. You’re half asleep, so all your surroundings are faded. Nothing more than ten feet away from you has any real shape or form. You have no real grasp of what is outside of your direct reach. You stand on flat ground, but the sensation of being off balance is tearing apart your insides, like the slightest nudge will send you collapsing to the ground. You have one hand reaching behind you, holding onto all that is stable. Yet, because it is your dream, they too are invisible, for you cannot turn around. You look at your feet, they are all you can see. The ground beneath them appears distant. Your knees are shaking, you’re sweating, everything is dark. Voices around you plead. One step. Just take one more step. Like every other day in your chaotic life, you feel like a child in their first attempt at something new.

Take my hand. I don’t want to fall. Can even I trust one more step?

Blood stops short of your hand, as you clench what rests behind you. Raising one foot, trembling off the ground, you extend a leg in front of you. For just an instant the ground disappears, your eyes roll back, consciousness subsides. The foot plummets a short distance below you, onto solid ground. You regain momentary strength, but it’s short lived. Everything is still black before you, and your heart still throbs within. Your back foot unknowingly catches up to your newly found location, and the battle continues once again, never looking back.

Take my hand. I never want to fall. How can I trust even one more step?

The ground you stand on quakes. Bits and pieces of the stone you rest on fall through the surface around you. A gaping black hole appears beneath you, as all you’ve known to exist, falls away. Your arms and legs go numb, as the ground disappears. The darkness engulfs everything around you, until nothing remains but your feet themselves, standing on thing air. Complete fear and agony overtake you, as the nothingness you have known for all this time, breaks your heart.

Emptiness.

For a moment.

Emptiness.

Gravity pulls you through the dark. Your arm still reaching behind you. You’re falling. Nothing can slow you down. Nothing can be seen. Your heart, your soul, your entire being, cries out at the dark.

Let me Go!

 

Behind you, from where you cannot see, you hear voices.

Take my hand. You will not fall. Take just ONE more step. 

 

 

Watch, with me, the birds. Can they see the air? The very ground they walk on. Can they see it? A flap of the wings, lift off.

Emptiness.

Keep going.

Emptiness.

 

What if we could fly?

Would you believe me if I told you; we are already flying..?

Each day is a flap of our wings, showing off to the world around us, and those in it. We look to the air beneath us and smile, as if to say:

Are you seeing what I am capable of?! 

I can fly. Each day, if I choose to, I soar.

We cannot see what gives us lift, and it may be a lifetime before we do.

Regardless, As a bird does not see the empty space beneath its wings.

We cannot see tomorrow.

But a bird takes off through thin air..

Can we, together, feel the wind?

Layers

I awoke again today, with that feeling. Why am I here?

Today it was less of a depressing feeling, and more of an unproductive feeling. Friday and Saturday night I was housesitting for my brother’s in-laws. I spent two nights, and one day there.

I went to sleep early friday, and woke up in good time on Saturday. After taking care of the pets, I made a run for donuts and coffee. I played videogames most the morning, was messing around on the piano for part of the afternoon. I ordered a large pizza, and watched a two hour movie on Netflix. I played more videogames again in the evening, in a Skype call with my friends. I fed and let out the animals again in the evening, and then laid in bed on Youtube until i went to sleep again, early.

Nobody robbed the house, It’s clean, and the animals are all fed and happy.

But other than that, I did nothing productive. I sat around by myself, enjoying not having much of anything to do. I slept a lot, and it was refreshing.

Today..

My back has hurt since I woke up. I had no plans. I did not make it to church. I had spent all Saturday in a pair of sweats. I did not have a change of clothes, and though I could have; I did not feel like going to church in what are essentially, my pajamas. I tidy’d up the house, packed up my computer, and went home. Made myself coffee, and played more videogames.

But why am I here?

Saturday was my day off. Saturday was relaxing, and easy. Saturday was an excuse to not do anything. But it’s sunday. I could literally be out saving lives, and instead i’m sitting in my pajamas, playing videogames.

Why am I here?

This is not a cry for help. This is not me, telling you I’m depressed. I am actually in a pretty good mood. It snowed last night, I’ve been listening to Christmas music off and on all week. I have all next week off work. I might roadtrip to the coast, just to get out of town. Life is good.

But today..?

I changed clothes. I packed my computer. I’m at the Library.

I need to write. I need to move along in my book. I need to vent. I would eat myself alive, if I sat at home all day.

When..

I could change lives.

 

Friday evening.

I stopped by Staples, the office supply store, to pick up some documents I had ordered to be printed. They were ready to be picked up, and it was a good time for me, because I was on my way to go house sit. After leaving Staples, I got in my car to grab some food. A KFC around the corner was a quick and easy option, so I got in my car and began heading over. I didn’t make it out of the parking lot.

She sat in the light of the entryway, outside the grocery store. One door down from Staples. Hands in her lap, back against the wall, legs straight out in front.

Her eyes were the only inch of skin to be seen, as they stared off into the nothingness before her, that was the entire world.

As I rolled by in my car she seemed to stare right through me.

I pulled over. I didn’t hesitate. From inside my chest, my heart made an executive decision. My mind knows not to argue with my heart, when my heart sets its own eyes before me.

“Excuse me, do you need something to eat?”

I asked her, self conscious about my appearance, to her, and anyone else looking on. She did, in fact, want something to eat. She agreed KFC was an ok option. She asked if we were walking, or driving, and wanted to know if I could bring her right back to her current spot. I told her we were driving, and yes, I could bring her back. She picked up her sleeping bag, and followed me to my car.

I told her she could get anything off the menu.

Five Dollars. That was it.

I went and took a seat before her and told her we could sit in the restaurant and eat, but that I would take her back as soon as she wanted.

She sat one table away from mine. There was space at my table, but she sat away from me. She did not want to annoy me. She did not want Me, to have to be seen eating with her. I allowed her the space she gave herself, while we ate, but I finished my meal and moved to her table. We sat there in silence.

Even inside the building, she did not take off any layers of clothing. Not even a hood. Which, at first does not sound weird. But I was wearing a t-shirt, and a jacket. I was comfortable.

She however, had on: A wool turtle neck, under a cotton hooded sweatshirt, under a fleece jacket, under a zip up hoodie, under another fleece jacket. With a beanie, and both hoods over her head. Beside her, was her sleeping bag, stuffed into a small canvas bag.

I caught her name, and found out she was Fifty Eight years old. I tried striking small conversation but she did not seem interested in talking.

I would have liked to know..

Are you actually homeless? Do you have family? How long have you been in this area? Is this all you own? Is there anything you need?

She didn’t talk.

I asked her what kind of music she liked, to which she responded:

“Oh you know.. I like just about anything. Whatever they play.”

Which I took as a generic response for:

I never really have the chance to listen to music enough to know what i like.

While we sat in the restaurant in silence, another older lady came in. She wore a cute cold weather sweater. She had a man and another woman with her. They all looked like they were in their Fifties and Sixties. They were all smiles.

I thought to myself, comparing and contrasting the two women around me.

These could very well be the same two women, under two different realities.

The thin, Grey, 58 year old homeless woman, wearing a dozen layers of clothing, with nothing to carry but a sleeping bag.

The thin, Grey, 58 year old wealthy woman, wearing a cute little wool sweater, and too much at home, to carry into town for dinner.

Where in their lives, did they make the different choices they did, to get where they are today?

Was it even a matter of mistakes? Was one born into a well connected family with happy jobs and healthy genes?

Was the other born alone?

Where was this poor woman’s family?

I don’t know what would be worse..

Finding out she has family, and they do nothing to care for her(?)

or Finding out she has no family to even attempt carrying for her at all..

 

When I dropped her back off at the grocery store, she returned to the spot i found her, and leaned up against the wall. She dropped the sleeping bag to her side, and was motionless. I wished her a Merry Christmas, and lifted a prayer.

But I left her there. longing.

Her and I both.

There was nothing I could have done to fix her. I could not change her past. I could not clear her mind. I could not extend warmth. I could not extend joy. I could not line out her future.

All I could do was provide a meal, and show her: at least on person cares.

To me.. That did not feel like enough. Though, I am told, that is all I needed to do.

When I picked her up she was sitting, and when I left her there again, she was standing. Maybe that’s all that matters.

If if could raid the world, and raise to their feet, everyone sitting down.. I would do it.

Life is too short to sit at home, and melt away.

Perhaps, one day; I will be at a place in my own life, where I can do more in others.

 

 

Forever strive.

Change lives.

 

 

The Dishonest Truth

Of all that I have struggled with in my life, honesty has never been an issue. Not that I do not lie. Not that I have not stretched the truth. But lying is something I avoid. I am good at it, but it is entirely unnecessary. I quit lying when i graduated high school and no longer had to answer; “not really” when asked, by my mother, if I had any homework. Nowhere in my life does lying ever suit. My home, my work, my friends. I am brutally honest almost to a fault. And it comes naturally.

Lying to me just doesn’t make much sense.

I have witnessed a lot of falsehoods. A lot of fibs. I know of too many occasions when someone stretched the truth to the point where their lie was no longer even plausible. And I can only think:

“How did you even get to this point? At what point was this story of yours at all easier?”

My conscience eats me alive when I intentionally change the truth. Its the same feeling i would get tracking mud into the house, as a kid. Like, Mom will eventually find this.. and i’m going to regret smearing dirt across the carpet, as soon as she realizes i did.

Lying is the same. Its sometimes feels easier than facing direct repercussions. But in the long run it is worth it, to avoid that inner feeling. The dread of: I just misled this person, on purpose.

Knowing that feeling within myself exists, I can only look on in wonder at those who live it constantly. What makes them Lie, So fluidly?..

I rolled it over in my mind today. Of all the chronic liars i have encountered in my life, and those I am still acquainted with today.. What in their subconscious allows such dishonesty?

At face value, my mind tells me to cast them out as untrustworthy people. They stretch the truth, you can’t believe what they say, avoid them.

Often times, that is all that works.

If i’m being honest, remaining around those dishonest, often changes my own perception of a situation. People turn on each other in search of the truth. Friends and enemies will fight to defend reputations. Until, eventually everyone is shredding the truth apart, in attempt to find one piece of evidence, that they themselves are not clinically insane. Or at least that’s how it always seems.

If i dig a little deeper, give them the benefit of the doubt, really evaluate a situation.. there may be a much deeper issue. Something beyond just: they like avoiding the truth. 

Chew on this:

If a dishonest person lies to themselves,

when they speak, are they lying to your face?

Or are they simply relaying the message

that they convinced themselves of earlier..?

Dishonesty starts at the core. I believe the chronic liar is just as dishonest with themselves, as they are with everyone around them. Imagine how easy it must be, to Lie, when in your own mind you are telling people exactly what you had been told, before – by yourself.

Decide within yourself, exactly how any given circumstance should be. Explain to yourself why it should be that way. And convince your heart, that your mind is speaking the truth.

In reality, the truth was misplaced. The truth was set aside, never to be found again.

In reality, you have lied to yourself. The truth is left for those around you to find.

There is not once person I can refer to. For I know of more than just one person. I still know of no good way to approach these kinds of people.

Slowly.

In the end, you still cannot trust what a person says, when they continue to lie to themselves.

However.

Rather than label them liars. Rather than plastering the word; False, on their forehead..

Gently, we need to give these people the chance.. to decipher the truth.

Honesty, in every fashion, may be the only way to do so.

 

Misjudged.

Driving home from work, I was planning out this big elaborate blog post.

I was gonna touch on what happened this summer between myself and some other individuals (who were gonna remain nameless)..

I was going to briefly explain what happened, and write about how angry it made me. How unjust it was. How misjudged I became.

I was going to discuss trust, gossip, and reputations. Jumping to conclusions. A slap in the face.

 

Now, I’m sitting at my computer. I checked the mail, ate some food, took a shower. I turned on some chill music. I’m having a change of heart.. At least in regards to what I want to write about.

What happened months ago is nobody’s concern. It happened, it ended, I have moved on. Bringing it back up again, to the top of my mind, for my soul to boil over, is unnecessary.

Like clouds that roll in unexpectedly, and disappear on their own time, this past issue eats at me.

I am not just making some cliché metaphor about clouds to sound poetic. I have gone weeks without it ever surfacing on my mind. Then, without any real warning, I remember. The clouds roll in overnight, and if I’m lucky, they blow over by late morning. Other times, like the cold season, I am not so easily set free.

My mind is not the sky, however. Unlike the open air, I CAN change my perspective on issues. I CAN push out the clouds, and reel in the sun.

Today, I reel in the sun.

Anyone wandering across this page, may by this point, be extremely curious what instance I am referring to. Maybe if you’re lucky i’ll address it in another post. Not today.

Needless to say. I am making a conscious decision to shift the wind of my mind. I have already done what I can to forgive. This post is not about forgiveness, but it Is in the past. I am done getting angry about problems I cant go back in time and fix. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone carries a knife. Who am I to complain? When i trip over backwards, and they happen to be standing behind me?

When we were kids, pictures and notebooks had the occasional rippled surfaces; that when moved, would animate themselves, or change color. Depending on the angle you looked at it, you might see an entirely different picture*.

Life is a series of mental games. A card is held up, and you’re asked what you see. You can see whatever you want of the card. You can sit and stare at it for hours, until you’ve convinced yourself, you know exactly what the image depicts.

Stand up and walk around. Ask someone else’s opinion. You may find something entirely different.

Is the card red, or blue? Is it a lion, or a fish? Was it a stab in the back, or one big misunderstanding?

Plot twist!

yes.

It depends on how you look at it.

That being said..

 

Life sucks.

 

But, good gracious.. Life, is no short of spectacular. 

 

Forgive, Forget, Move On. Stand up for what you believe, and when your biggest critic is yourself. Light your own sky on fire, and chase away the clouds; because the sun needs reeling in.

 

 

** Lenticular Printing