la vida es como la espuma, por eso hay que darse como el mar

I had resigned myself to thinking that because the breadth of my experience with the opposite sex had been something so disenchanting and disparaging that all encounters would be like this.

Although there has yet to be any indication that this is untrue, I do now subscribe to the belief that a true counterpart does exist in this world, at least in terms of intellectual and spiritual attainment. I realized that my strategy of manipulation as a means of control was fatally flawed and misleading; because no matter my comportment, the individual would remain the same…it was just a matter of framing things in my favor despite the reality of the situation.

Perhaps it was more a mechanism to mask my vulnerabilities, making me more comfortable with being so exposed. This developed because I became accustomed to not being truly “seen” or listened to, and this was a point of deep sadness. In fact it remains one, and while I think to some extent a worthy man can rectify this, it will always be the eternal caveat of physical beauty. Even in instances where the man feels great intrigue and wishes nothing more than to learn everything about you, it is only ever spurred by how enamored he has become with the apparition before him. He failed before he began. And either way he would be selective in what he accepts, arranging your characteristics to complement the deity he has designed in your likeness.

But there exists a glimmer of optimism in my recognition of the above. I dismissed all the useless and ridiculous and ultimately illusory requirements, reducing them down to one: I desire a person that I feel respect for.

What this will manifest as, only time will tell.

the battle to live mindful awareness

I think the constraints placed on “daily life” on “living a normal life” mean we resign ourselves to setting an agenda, to being submissive to time

We set our goals for the future and from the point they are set until they actively come to fruition, we simulate a waiting period

Thus it is only in our mentally busy nature that we take this so called waiting period for granted, that we devalue it, even though the moment is no less worthy, just different

Seemingly routine because we make it so

It is dismaying to exist in this manner, to lose control of our conscious existence to some simulation

Even now, I employ a thesaurus, in an attempt to capture what it is my mind is trying to convey, as if a different amalgamation of letters would ever match or come close to matching the truth

Alas, am I forever doomed to inhabit a world of phraseology