There Are So Many Ways To Be

We Search For Patterns, You See, Only To Find Where The Patterns Break. And It’s There, In That Fissure, That We Pitch Our Tents And Wait.

You’re Lost In Your Own World, In The Things That Happen There, And You’ve Locked All The Doors. Sometimes I Look At You Sleeping. I Wake Up And Look At You And I Feel Closer To You When You’re Like That, Unguarded, Than When You’re Awake. When You’re Awake You’re Like Someone With Her Eyes Closed, Watching A Movie On The Inside Of Your Eyelids. I Can’t Reach You Anymore. Once Upon A Time I Could, But Not Now, And Not For A Long Time.

The Misery Of Other People Is Only An Abstraction Something That Can Be Sympathized With Only By Drawing From One's Own Experiences. But As It Stands, True Empathy Remains Impossible. And So Long As It Is, People Will Continue To Suffer The Pressure Of Their Seemingly Singular Existence.

And It's Like Some Tiny Nothing That Sets Off A Natural Disaster Halfway Across The World, Only This Was The Opposite Of Disaster, How By Accident She Saved Me With That Thoughtless Act Of Grace, And She Never Knew, And How That, Too, Is The Part Of The History Of Love.

Part Of Me Is Made Of Glass, And Also, I Love You.