Are the ones hard to find. The impossible treasures everyone says are never to be found, but you did it. And you don’t know if it’s terrifying or amazing that they came to you, or maybe you dig them out, you’re not sure. Here they are. Staring at you blankly. Did you asked for these stories? To carry these burdens? They’re not yours, but it feels like you’re part of them now.
The pearl in the lake is the boy who never said what he should had. It’s the one who said too much and left. It’s the girl who still regrets all the things she did that made her who she is. And the one who runs from everything, calling it freedom but she’s trapped in the very own things she wants to let go of.
I’m not the best person to write these stories, but they come to me and I feel obligated by the universe to spread them out, even if it reaches half a person. They touch my core, make me be awake at night and cry on trains and smile on cloudy days. These are the things you pick up on the road. That turns the world your home.
There are pearls who’re still inside the shell. Like the boy who doesn’t have a home, who’s been waiting around for the system to work and I wish I could do more.
Sisyphus Dreams 