Acoustic

I wonder if they'll ever find me under these beautiful little notes... These euphemisms with which I mask my apparent brutality.
If you find me though, and if you remove these little shreds of lines paper, piece by piece, you may begin to understand me. And you may begin to understand that I am nothing ugly at all. Nor are you, nor are you parents, nor are the people you think of and ostracize in fear.
I am beautiful, but I am hidden. Paper and glue and misled newsprint are over our faces and eyes, prohibiting us from seeing and being seen. It's quite a shame, but I can only smile and shake my head.

There's a feeling like a thorn in my chest because I miss someone. It is an irrational thorn, and I've done almost everything in my power to remove it, yet it remains. I can wait for the fates to pluck it from my flesh and I have no doubt that will happen sooner than I hope. It's simply a void because something dear was taken from me, or so it would seem. Why is it not more important that I momentarily possessed that wondrous thing in the first place? Must I greed for more time? In this melancholic state of being, I neglect the prospect of future happiness, and, moreover, I neglect the prospect of hope.

Acceptance of change is a thing I have both taken pride in exhibiting and wished for. I guess I am silly in that sense... Or maybe I'm just human.

Despite my acknowledgement of the futility and counterproductivity of my sadness, I'm still a little blue. Rightfully so, but also not. Emotions are not rational, and that is my conclusion to this internal debate I've been having.

Light and love to you.