We grow up believing that the magic stays. But it never really does. Experience skins us, bares us open. To a reality that is far from what we want ourselves. As children we were blank canvasses. Time went on and so did life bring so many colors to that canvass. Sometimes bright, sometimes dark. Filling the white, pure spaces as each day we learn to fear, to hope , to love and to desire. But we also lose our ability to just go back to that blank slate. Where everything is clearer, unclouded. And we just think that the world is full of it, when all along we are just full of it.
I'd like to know the art of just being that empty canvass again. To learn and to unlearn every color that the world has given me. To be thrown into an absolute mess but still go back to where I came from.
HP has become some sort of journal for me where I can express my thoughts that people will just undoubtedly dismiss because they are too weird or too abstract or idk. I'd like to think of these things though. I am someone who takes comfort in her thoughts and these are the kinds of things that fly to my mind when I am alone. This beats thinking about my professor failing me because I am just writing instead of playing by her rules.
