I DOUBT, I THINK, I AM

Illustration by author [01: The Introduction] Dear reader, a piece of advice...if you happen to hear Lady Whistledown's voice speaking in these pages, know that the only thing me and her have in common is that we are both fictional, nothing more. Most times I wish to jot with pleasure these confessions of mine but I cannot. I seem to have a certain loathsome proclivity towards creating something that is not. I twist my words to paint something more beautiful and aesthetically appealing for your sake, dear reader! I should begin by saying that it is not my wish to deceive you, but every now and then I cannot help myself and thus I will lie to you, presenting myself as more decent than I really am. Therefore, dear reader, I implore you to not believe me, I beseech you to see through the sham that I am about to present before you. I was told before that the truth has its own spirit and so I rest knowing that it will beckon thee to enlightenment. Ahh, but no, that is a lie too. I say t...

Today whilst I'm at the market I will bid for a lavender cotton pillow A lofty bathing soap A noble gentleman's cologne Not because my wallet is lofty Nor because I'm a nobleman Neither a gentleman But because in a not-so-distant awry day When all things shall fall dead wrong! I will say to my weary soul Let us go and bathe with our lofty soap Let us apply to our bodies this heavenly cologne Let us rest and weep in our lavender cotton pillow For the pillow will dry our tears without wetting And when the pillow also weeps for our sake We will be the ones to dry its tears! And in our weariness, at least, We will smell and feel beautiful!

Image by pch.vector on Freepik "These are my confessions, and if in them I say nothing, it’s because I have nothing to say...These confessions of what I feel are my solitaire. I don’t interpret them like those who read cards to tell the future. I don’t probe them, because in solitaire the cards don’t have any special significance! " - Fernando Pessoa   Somewhere, in the woods, right now, there's a falling tree that dares to make a sound. At a distant place, somewhere further from the falling tree, there's a waterfall that makes a continuous rumbling. This place sometimes feels like the story of my life. People come and go, but while visiting, you can hear small chatters, small laughs and giggles and sometimes at night, you can still see their ghosts lingering here and there. While on the hike seated at a hilly place holding the vision of a spy drone, I see a dragonfly passing by without any real majesty. It takes my eyes here and there before fading into the backgr...

Photo credit: Image by author [One: Green] I have no desire to be accepted by society, although sometimes, secretly, when no one is watching, I wish I was. [Two: Orange] Every morning when I wake up, I seem to have missed my cue, I seem to always wake up with an exasperating abdominal pain that usually disappears after some moments fade into the terrible darkness that surrounds my new and untouched day. I almost always wish to pull this lady sleeping next to me a little closer, where our skins touch and remember the taste of life, I wish to cuddle and squeeze the soreness of existence out of us, to look into her sleepy eyes or her drooling mouth, to smell her terrible morning breath or something equally disgusting and think to myself, ooh! I've fallen in love with you, haven't I? But she never quite seems to exist in this world. I beckon sleep to take me to that dream where her whole life still is, but too much time has passed and dreaming now seems to be for the hopeless. ...

https://www.vecteezy.com/free-vector/confused-mind    I like to write more than I like to speak, although they are, in every way that matters, the same thing! I like to dangle in that thin line that separates the two and be able to say I prefer one and not the other. I like to skew that line a bit until I skew it all the way. When writing, I feel the freedom to say all that I can, the pressure to have to say things the right way lessens a little and I revel in the world created by all the delayed words in my mind. When someone somewhere is reading between the lines of my work and misses the point, I won't be present to have to explain what I meant, because sometimes when you can't find the meaning in something, it is because it has no meaning! Why then do I write? Hmm, good question! I ask myself the same every now and then when I'm not writing. Someone told me, through their writing, that if they write what they feel, it is to reduce their fever of feeling! I am not sure...