I write because I think too much. I need somewhere to put all the idle thoughts. They’re not all idle, at least to me, which is why I am indeed the only one who can write my story.
In my youth, I am overzealous. I’m no longer in my youth by standards of some, yet I remain overzealous. To me, some are to my zeal, jealous. This youth keeps a pep in my step. I’ve found that you can trip up at any step, so I play by my own rules, so I don’t slip. Only thing between me and playing too much, is insufficient gameplay. Course it takes
[unfinished thought]
The beast within, hunger, comes at an adage. Just desserts. I crave more than meets the eye. It was an early memory, that my eyes strain against long distance. Almost as if the horizon were my bête noir. What a drag, patience. It is not the bane, I ought to abet such a virtue. It’s okay to be virtuous. It is idle thoughts and avid habits, bad appetencies that scare loved and liked ones alike. How does poor eyesight create keen insight? Reality may not be clear, but it is all your perception. Sometimes, I abhor the luxury of having passion.
My poor sight and fantastic imagery inexplicably relate. Perhaps, if I saw what I do now, what I came to see could’ve been different. Living for others’ is a dead man’s way of thinking. I could care less if you adduce me to be selfish, but let’s be clear. I understand my aim, and like an ascetic, I maintain faith. There is a significance I crate as I use photography to capture my time. Experience is not linear, but eternal as I reflect. I do picture everything, for what it could be – life goes. I could be successful, my love might answer, and words take flight. Vision without action is but a daydream. Perhaps, I have seen too much, to you. To me, I bear witness to much, but act very little. The visual acuity could keep me agog, albeit overwhelmed. Photography may not be the ideal nor single form of imagery. Words may be more than a suggestion. Some gifts cost more than money. I cannot be captured, deep in reflection.
