colour me true

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Words…don’t inspire.

It’s the daring act of going deep into yourself-behind the façade and masks and whatever you use to distract yourself from pain- to retrieve your truth and soak your words with its unmistakably difficult hue that...inspires. It goes right to the heart of another, bearing a dose of courage to look under the bed for monsters concocted by your fears.
It tells you; I live my pain and I still stand tall. The monsters were never there; you allowed them to threaten you because you were too afraid of exploring your pain.Had you dared to peer under the bed, you would have called fear’s bluff.
How do you know what’s true and what’s not? All that is true – in you, in the world- is threatening. All that is false, is enticing and compelling.


 

Mind portrait

Sorry Dave picture

لَنْ تَستطيعَ سِنينُ البُعْدِ تَمنَعُنا

إنَّ القُلوبَ بِرَغْمِ البُعدِ تَتَّصِلُ

لا القَلبُ يَنسَى حَبيبًا كَانَ يَعْشَقُهُ

ولا النُّجومُ عَنِ الأفْلاكِ تَنْفَصِلُ

Years of separation cannot come in between us
Indeed, the hearts remain connected in spite of great distances
A heart would not forget a beloved it longs for
Nor would the stars ever be separated from its orbits

A sultry winter

Dry Tree On A Beach picture

There is no living being on earth at this moment except myself. I could walk down the halls, and empty rooms would yawn mockingly at me from every side. God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of ‘parties’ with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter — they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship — but the loneliness of the soul in its’ appalling self-consciousness, is horrible and overpowering.
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

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