Turns out it was true. I can hardly believe it. I fabricate and then it's true. I feel like whoever it was that did that. Alas my lamentable memory.
Here is the thought. We are our true selves not with the people we love, but with the people who love us. It makes sense, no? When you are sure, sure, of someone's love for you, you take them for granted, and that's the one person to whom you will feel free enough to show all parts of you. And all sides of you. Rather cruel, now I come to think of it. (oooh i'm capitalizing automatically. why but?)
Second thought: I now know whom to go to when I want stories and to whom to turn when I want profound thoughts. Unfortunately the one has to be recultivated, but I'm in the process, so yay!
What I need now, is one who will inspire me to write that scintillating piece of writing that will blow everyone away and make my mother happy.
I'm glad that the poetry comes regardless.
And I wish I were more like my mother.
Here is the thought. We are our true selves not with the people we love, but with the people who love us. It makes sense, no? When you are sure, sure, of someone's love for you, you take them for granted, and that's the one person to whom you will feel free enough to show all parts of you. And all sides of you. Rather cruel, now I come to think of it. (oooh i'm capitalizing automatically. why but?)
Second thought: I now know whom to go to when I want stories and to whom to turn when I want profound thoughts. Unfortunately the one has to be recultivated, but I'm in the process, so yay!
What I need now, is one who will inspire me to write that scintillating piece of writing that will blow everyone away and make my mother happy.
I'm glad that the poetry comes regardless.
And I wish I were more like my mother.
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