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My Own Private Oklahoma

Writing for Intent, Writing for its Magic!

Love

Love is a complicated word these days to decipher. At 34, I have skid through love with my shades too dark and found unknown bruises rising to the surface before I realized what had just happened.

In terms of love, I think I am a diver. I jump off the largest cliff head first like an idiot and nearly hit my head on a rock before swirling through layers of water and reaching as far down as I possibly can.

I try my best to reach the treasure at the bottom of the water, force myself to not be pulled back to the surface by the pressure, and stay there for quite some time until I am out of breath and until I realize the treasure box just might be empty or I cannot pull it back to the surface with me without suffocating it.

Don't know if I am making sense, but I'd say most people would prefer to stay on the river's edge, swim in the warmest waters, and not go so deep into the core of this reality, but I don't live that way.

I live my life with drive, with intensity, with the raw grip of life surrounding me in circles of beauty, and love, life, people, whatever you want to call it, see me diving into the darkest places and wonder what the hell I am doing.

Well, I am simply returning to my primordial past and longing for some gills and fins to keep me below the surface long enough to understand, long enough to forget the surface of me.

Love againThe Mountain

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