Scarecrow

I want to tell you a secret.

Your mind will build life up to be more than it is. You will fashion castles and oubliettes and you will sequester yourself withing both. For a season.

That is human nature. That is how we reconcile our breath. That is how we absolve ourselves of all things. That is how we justify the beating of our hearts. That is what will make it all... OK.

It will never truly make sense, the living, I mean. Some would call it a journey and I suppose that is true to some extent, but it's more of a passage. A journey often dictates reason and purpose. Life isn't either of those things. It's happenstance. It's simply It. Like a passage. It doesn't ask you to use it nor travel through it. It simply exists because it has nothing better to do. In a sense, it's waiting. On You, more often than not.

People will forget what you said and they will forget what you did... but they will never forget how you made them Feel.

Be better than Me.

We're stitched together in a matter of moments. We're quilted with blinks, breaths, smiles, & tears. We're patterned from words, deeds, acts, & intentions. We're a blanket of moments. Nothing more, nothing less.

Nothing More.

Nothing Less.

Put this scarecrow back together.