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Incredible Post
underneath those layers of resistence all that's left is the nakedness of our souls. pure. unfiltered. immensely personal and intricately simplistic. a fragment of truth in its most organic form. but with morter made of broken dreams and shattered hearts we brick ourselves from hurt. and although we secretly wait for that one person whom we will finally allow to break through, in reality we just sweep the ravages of beautific memories beneath the porcelin tiles of a million cold nights because we're ALWAYS short on love.
i read somewhere that the hummingbird's heart is the size of a pencil eraser, yet they can fly more than five hundred miles without pausing! their hearts are built thinner and leaner to endure the insanity of such flight but when they come to rest they come close to death. yet, they fly, breathe, and live more passion in their short two-year lifespan than a two-hundred year old tortoise retreating into its shell at the first sign of danger, heartbreak, life. i envy those hummingbirds for leaving their little pencil eraser hearts open to enjoy those few seconds, minutes, hours, days in the stratosphere. their infinitesimal souls fighting resistence, gravity, inertia...
