seekerofvisions
12-27-2006, 03:18 PM
a repost
maybe one day you were sitting on your bed, lacing up your shoes, pulling up your socks, when you noticed that nothing in your room reflected anything personal in nature about you. the jewelry box that contained years of tokens of affection, long forgotten, never worn. bits and pieces of paper on the dresser. receipts from dinners that you partook in sometime through out the month. numbers scrawled. notes taken.
none of this summing up who you are.
maybe you stood up from your bed, shoes laced, socks pulled, when you realized that nothing in your room reflects who you are or what you have become. maybe there are traces of yesterday and teh day before and the day before. activity. inactivity. dreams once scrawled on a piece of paper and fallen to the floor. forgotten.
none of this adding up to who you are or what you have become.
maybe you stood in front of your mirror one day, shirt straightened, pants ironed, when you realized that the expression on your face does not truly reflect what you are or who you have become. wrinkles not yet added, skin smooth, eyebrows not twined together. just your eyes shine back at you. eyes that know.. maybe just a little something but no where near the truth of everything.
none of this says anything about you.
maybe you stood at the edge of your closet, boxes of photos in the corner of the shelf, five maybe six outfits lining the bar of the closet, hanging, ironed, not ironed. no matter.
none of this adds up to you.
your house, void of any real personal touch. sits in the middle of the block. speaking nothing of its owner.
your car, void of any real personal items, sits in the drive. speaking nothing of its driver.
your face, void of any real expression, speaks nothing of its wearer's thoughts.
all of this, speaks volumes about you.
maybe one day you were sitting on your bed, lacing up your shoes, pulling up your socks, when you noticed that nothing in your room reflected anything personal in nature about you. the jewelry box that contained years of tokens of affection, long forgotten, never worn. bits and pieces of paper on the dresser. receipts from dinners that you partook in sometime through out the month. numbers scrawled. notes taken.
none of this summing up who you are.
maybe you stood up from your bed, shoes laced, socks pulled, when you realized that nothing in your room reflects who you are or what you have become. maybe there are traces of yesterday and teh day before and the day before. activity. inactivity. dreams once scrawled on a piece of paper and fallen to the floor. forgotten.
none of this adding up to who you are or what you have become.
maybe you stood in front of your mirror one day, shirt straightened, pants ironed, when you realized that the expression on your face does not truly reflect what you are or who you have become. wrinkles not yet added, skin smooth, eyebrows not twined together. just your eyes shine back at you. eyes that know.. maybe just a little something but no where near the truth of everything.
none of this says anything about you.
maybe you stood at the edge of your closet, boxes of photos in the corner of the shelf, five maybe six outfits lining the bar of the closet, hanging, ironed, not ironed. no matter.
none of this adds up to you.
your house, void of any real personal touch. sits in the middle of the block. speaking nothing of its owner.
your car, void of any real personal items, sits in the drive. speaking nothing of its driver.
your face, void of any real expression, speaks nothing of its wearer's thoughts.
all of this, speaks volumes about you.