I hate the words lukewarm and what it signifies; i find it stifling that it is neither here, nor there. I hate how the word should dictates our lives. I am livid about but, and what usually follows it. Certain words leaves me defeated and sad, like overlook, as it reminds me of the Anais Nin quote, “What I don’t love, I overlook“. Hope and i share a tumultuous relationship; sometimes it makes me lie on satin sheets, covers me with a soft quilt, runs its fingers through my hair and lulls me to sleep saying how everything will be alright when I wake up; sometimes it drags me by the hair to hurl me off a bridge into unknown depths. Acceptance is a frail old man who holds my hand throughout it all, but he is so tiny that sometimes i forget his existence. I love love, even when it is about chasing the horizon.
Dialect of Heart 