The holy scripture of humanity
I don't know what I'm writing, but as ink flows on paper, so do words—characters that when arranged together carry meaning, carry life, carry everything and nothing all at once. My mind suspended between thoughts, floating in a space of nothingness. Psychology controlling my brain, having a grip on my thoughts—it is beauty. It's art. It's humanity, all in all. It's holy like scripture; only those worthy enough or chosen can access it. I am grateful to have access to the holy scripture of humanity. The beauty of it. The mental capacity to be able to analyze a person's actions no matter how erratic they are, yet have such deep empathy towards them. The capacity to carry both truths simultaneously, to witness weakness and erraticism, to understand the mechanics of hurt while still feeling its weight. To feel for everyone. Even on a personal level—to be able to wake up every day, brew my morning coffee, and as I watch the incense smoke dance upward like prayers made...
