there is something more magical about writing the old fashion way, paper and pencil. it's like looking at art; the colors and brush strokes tell more about the painting then the whole, completed piece. This is the same with writing. by studying the lines, the applied pressure, the emotion of frustration portrayed through quick, messy letter vs. the calmness of the cursive lines of a love letter.
today was harsh and unsettling. finding reality thrust in one's face is never easy. moving out of the daydreams and into the real world, that was today. i find people cannot be trusted of counted on. the one thing you look forward to is gone. the person you trusted turns. fights break out. old drama reemerges. in the end, an inviting surprise. humanity is selfish and self serving. I doubt i will ever find someone who puts my well-being and happiness above theirs, for that would be asking them to move past their natural selves. such higher levels of humanity is rare and, unfortunately, makes it the most desirable. now to be as them and concentrate on myself. then, possibly, it will stop hurting...
