"But spirals eventually move
habitual patterns die.
Old skin sheds.
A barrier that once
wrapped around in an act
of security, and unknown
I cannot say how much that thought appeals to me! what an ideal. Our walls that were built like an edge to cut us away from who we are, so to protect ourselves we cut our self away from what is our own, our desires, our very character gets lost like jewel embedded between two bricks. Always lost, and never guessed at...never sought by the stranger because no one ever surmises that it is there.
You lose yourself, and seek yourself.
You forget even who it was that your walls were protecting............
Funeral for dead thinking.
What a cheerfully lovely idea.
Dance on the graves of sorrow,
For something dead has finally died!!!!
And it didn't take you with it!