Being Past Times

Past time. Past times. Adding one, little letter can sure change a phrases mean so very much. Both things however, are things that trouble me. The time that has past, well, has been rough. It's so hard to read this help and survivor books, cause for the most part it's one or maybe several events. Not a lifetime. From the beginning. I feel like I should read books on survivors from war torn countries or something. I feel like I could relate better. Most of these help book talk about get over "experiences", not a "life" you had. Hm, I think I will. I'll have to do some research and see if I can find some strong biographies. As for my past times, they have come undone and I am in a renewal of myself. I don't really know who I am or what it even means to be me. Things I once loved so deeply now bring pain. Heartache. I'll just march on. I do feel better today, by the way. I woke up smiling. And hoping and all that other weird stuff. Not bad after yesterday. And that scary dream I had about blood and chasing and zombies and death and taaallll buildings. Yea, I think I'm a little better. I suppose a little is better then nothing.

Death Is Safe

Sitting in a graveyard is one of the safest places for me to rest. To feel safe. It seems sad to me at points to feel that way. That being around most people, or just people in general causes pain. Why, well because they hurt. They cause so much pain I can't function. How pathetic I feel. My inner intuition feels the depth, the core of of each soul that I come in contact with. It's strange. I can be a in a room full of people and get a glimpse of what each one is experiencing. Not a completely clear view of their soul, no just a small glimpse. Its like staring in the darkness at a door while a light is shining from the other side letting the keyhole glow from the dark side. That light feels as if it is apart of me. Will I ever be free? This should be a gift. Oh, Well