sometimes
what we know of people is merely our own ideas of them. we treat them like an empty canvas upon which we project these ideas. this is how we get the this is so you and the this is uncharacteristic of you. is this what we all are in the end?. just canvas to be painted on by those who enter our lives. are we a piece on our own or a collection of pain strokes and cuts and masks. we let people paint on us and we, on others. but after a while we create such vivid images in our heads that we forget. the people we construct in our heads are just that. constructions in our heads. imaginary. how many imaginary friends do we have. how many imaginary relationships do we hold dear. how many imaginary lives are we living. it brings colour and beautifies our world. but we often forget to keep our feet on the ground. and we often end up frustrated with the ideals we can never make true. and we paint our minds black. hoping to start over. or hoping to silence the ideas we once had.
come, come to life
I'd very much like to meet you here
with two feet on the ground