Words of the better times

[MindHalfFull]

Memories of Starving Thoughts

When I stop myself, lessening the opening of old wounds, I feel at home. I shrug my cerebral shoulders amid the recurring rust of my history.

I gift the manipulative thoughts a temporary home to rage—watching at a distance. I then meet the rhetorical form of myself, taking opportunity to be reminded of the dance of its eversion. To be the referee in its games at play, watching. My inactions stand wide. I gift myself for the successful endurance, mind over mind.

These nostalgic pains visit me unlike most do. In the depth, I rediscover the path toward conclusive resolve—my won't power. I look downward and see how dependent these starving thoughts are.

I almost celebrate the pain as I look down, seeing childish desperations. They reach towards me, I look and smile as they slowly slip away.