To think is to stray from the truth.

Solitude is real. Loneliness is something I think my way into.

Anger is real. Thoughts turn it to hatred.

Love is real. Thoughts convince me I should cling to it.

This emptiness I feel is a flimsy lie built by thought. I will not allow it to stand between me and a strong beating heart.

It hurts to write this because it is taking me away from gazing at the world.

Reasons are exhausting and I am weary of being weary.