I'm sure you've been bruised before, but have you ever noticed that you often press the bruise intentionally and repeatedly and feel the pain? I don't know why we do this exactly. Is it our constant need for a reason to feel sorry for ourselves? Or do we like the pain? Or are we hoping that somehow the pain will exist no more? We're all desperate. One way or another. And we try so hard to hide it. But we seldom despair. We hold on to the last bit of hope there is even when we show the world that we've given up.
I'm also sure a baby has held your finger in its tiny hand. It felt good, didn't it? We love the feeling that someone in this world is holding on to us. Even if it's just a finger of us. It feeds our ego of being needed. We're selfish. Even in helping others at times, we seek that peace of mind and sense of content.
Do you often look back on you as a child? Marvel at how the world was successful in quietening you up, stealing your boldness and perhaps originality. How we start energetically and slowly lose heart. From crying over a toy we didn't get, to being confused and indecisive.
There are issues, personal ones, we never get over. No matter how old they are. We exhaust them with those around us, after keeping them to ourselves. Maybe we forget about them for awhile. But there's always a trigger that reminds us of them. We ignore and go on with our day. But at the end of the day, when we're all alone, we feel bitter with those disappointments, regrets or whatever they are. And we wish we had someone right there with us whom we could complain to endlessly, even though they've heard the exact same complaints before. But it's hard, because we won't admit that things affect us all the same when we pretend to agree with the notion that claims that time heals.
I'm also sure a baby has held your finger in its tiny hand. It felt good, didn't it? We love the feeling that someone in this world is holding on to us. Even if it's just a finger of us. It feeds our ego of being needed. We're selfish. Even in helping others at times, we seek that peace of mind and sense of content.
Do you often look back on you as a child? Marvel at how the world was successful in quietening you up, stealing your boldness and perhaps originality. How we start energetically and slowly lose heart. From crying over a toy we didn't get, to being confused and indecisive.
There are issues, personal ones, we never get over. No matter how old they are. We exhaust them with those around us, after keeping them to ourselves. Maybe we forget about them for awhile. But there's always a trigger that reminds us of them. We ignore and go on with our day. But at the end of the day, when we're all alone, we feel bitter with those disappointments, regrets or whatever they are. And we wish we had someone right there with us whom we could complain to endlessly, even though they've heard the exact same complaints before. But it's hard, because we won't admit that things affect us all the same when we pretend to agree with the notion that claims that time heals.
