We all feel the riddle of the earth without anyone to point it out. The mystery of life is the plainest part of it… Every stone or flower is a hieroglyphic of which we have lost the key, with every step of our lives we entere into the middle of some story which we are certain to misunderstand.
Hypersensitivity. I will pick up on the smallest things. You walk into a room and a group of friends/acquiantances don’t bother to recognise your presence. I don’t care how selfish it seems. But a smile, eye contact, a hello even? Oh, they are not to blame. But how important it, simple recognition is. It set the tone for the day, or I let it.
I wonder sometimes if people understand how important is the use of names. I’ve thought about it before it came to mind today when Kym used: Rebecca, instead of the standard: Bec.
To risk getting overly metaphorical, it’s sometimes like I live the life of Bec, where I’d rather live the life of the more whole. Rebecca. (I can’t explain very well what’s going on in my head)
Names. Acknowledgement… If we all took a little more care.
I have more than most would even dare to ask for and yet I still crave, friendship, encouragemnt when my mind conjures up the hoax of lakc.
Are we never satisfied?
Feel sometimes as if I’m fighting for too many people.
Where’s someone to fight for me?