Lost

To look around and always see, the endless image of me being me.
Every thought and encounter mine, a memory of the kind divine.
Plans change and so do views, who I was burnt my soul in a scarring way.

It didnt always make sense, and it never will. But at least now I have an inkling of whats going on, at least right now, and right here.Love is a word, its elusive and hard to find, only because its defined by who we are in a moment. Love is actually just tolerance. The willingness to put up with another for a certain amount of time. There are moments of bright stars and blooming flowers, but even those flowers fade and give way to something else. It all changes, just when you've caught you're breath.

But we breath, we shake the waters of a past life from our eyes and manage to carry on. We get up, convince ourselves its all ok, that we've changed and that it's all ok. We smear the wound closed with words of blind faith and hope, and pray for the best. We dont really know whats going on, we're only fooling ourselves.

And for every failure there's a reason, a valid point of moral ground or ethical value. A sore point we could not see past, or a value that was missed. And when we stand on that tiny hill, or insignificant victory, and look around, there's only ever one thing to see.

The endless image of me being me.