A hunger for chaos. Patiently anticipating a meltdown. Something to give you clarity about what the world really is when it is tested by fire, and who you really are in such a state of affairs.
The reason I love words and reading them so voraciously is so I may stumble upon a hint, an explanation, a sign of shared perspective and similar inner worlds. Sometimes I find myself wishing for harmony to be done away with, to be stripped naked, to be confronted by the climax that ‘ought’ to happen, so there can be a face-off, a revelation of secrets, a submission, an admission, a certain moment of vulnerability and intensity neither of which can persist without co-existence.
There’s a word, and therefore there is a validation for the undercurrents of my soul. It is shared, I’m no alien or uncommon martyr or idiosyncratic eccentric or ill-tongued demon to reap this product of my tumultuous emotions. It is human, as it is shared.