Where around us we find comfort is what marks us. For our comfort is not that of strength, not that of knowledge, or that of dogma. It is where we secure our ever loving minds. The minds that have been neglected. The minds that need a sense of safety where we are not safe. It is where we gain love. Love given to us before but not recognized. We live with it in a hateful light. We see it as a weakness. We see it as harmful. For this is not where we act, or where we strengthen, but it is where we live out our deepest desires. Our desires are not chosen. Our desires are not designed. Our desires are assigned, and without conscious purpose. It is what makes us beautiful. The passivity it displays balances us. Without it, there is no relation to one another. There's no shared experience. The angry become calm, the anxious become safe, the ashamed become prideful. Its beauty is taken for granted, day by day, and never respected. What we respect is our accompl
I write short stories and poetry sometimes. I deconstruct writing standards.