I’ve grown used to myself over the years. Some people think of me as that mysterious quiet guy. Maybe I am. I have a lot to say, but you might never hear it, and that has nothing to do with you or how much I like you. It’s just me. I’m not trying to be anything. I fear being misunderstood and thus choose my words carefully. I hope you don’t think I’m arrogant or ultimately aloof, because I’m not. I’m here. I’m not judging you like you think I am.
I analyze everything to a great extent. My inner mind is lush and overgrown. There are thorns. I try my best not to judge the garden because there are rough patches. We all have them. But my mind is mine is mine is mine.
Writing can be my meditation, but I fear judgment, even from myself. Need to stop that. I have words that need to be written. I have backspaced more than I should.
Even now, when I’m trying to push this out of me with no regard for structure or direction, I judge. But isn’t this just what humans do? We recognize patterns, especially when there are none to be found. There is freedom in knowing that. There is freedom in denying patterns.