Our ears are too small for our hearts. And I am not a poet. I am just a voice, a whisper, a shout. I'm silent, but louder than that soft swish that tells you to let go, to take the drop, grab the pills and pop. But you don't really want that. You just want the rush. The rush that pushes you off of that mountain, over and over, thousands of times because that's what you love. Or you think you love. It's not love. It's self-hate. And damn, it feels good. Damn, it feels good.
Jumping off of a cliff, chasing a monster commonly known as ourselves feels good. Destroying ourselves feels good. Know why? Because we can't hear. We can't see. We don't know.
We are made of love, to love everyone, because they are made of the same love. Once we realize we are a living breathing form of love. that cliff isn't so fun. The rush leaves, in it's wake, peace.
Peace.
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