Loading
My own universe.My own universe
My own universe.
He learned quite early that his mind ran deep, That questions others left untouched would keep His restless thoughts awake long after night, While simple answers never felt quite right. Sometimes he knew it—sometimes just believed— That he saw things others somehow never perceived. And yes, there were a few he could outthink, A step ahead while others stopped to think. He saw the patterns hiding in the noise, The things between the words, the pause, the choice. But somewhere pride began to blur the view, And he forgot that being sharp could blind him too. So conversations started feeling thin, Too much repeating, not enough within. He'd speak of things that lived beneath the skin, Of time and fear and why we carry sin. They'd smile, he'd nod, and let the moment pass, Then wonder why connection always felt like glass. He started keeping more of life inside, Where every contradiction could collide. He questioned what he thought, then questioned that, And pulled apart the things he called a fact. He became a country only he could see, A crowded world inhabited by one lonely me. Yet there are nights he wonders what it means To trade the difficult for easier scenes— To settle for a hand that doesn't reach The hidden places language cannot teach. Would comfort be enough to make him stay, Or would some quiet part of him still drift away? Because solitude has never been the same As being understood without the game. He does not need a crowd to call him wise, Or someone dazzled by the way he sees the skies. He wants a mind that questions him as well, Someone who can wander where his thoughts compel. So he waits, though waiting wears him thin, For someone whose strange frequencies fit his own skin; Someone who can argue without war, Who sees the hidden door behind the door. A soul aligned enough to understand The language neither ever had to plan. And maybe he is foolish to believe That somewhere there is someone he won't have to leave. Maybe the world is full of almosts, not exacts, Of beautiful mistakes and imperfect overlaps. Still, he would rather guard that fragile flame Than choose a life that never asks his mind to change. For somewhere beyond all the noise he cannot bear, He believes there is a mind that will meet him there.
My own universe.
He learned quite early that his mind ran deep, He realized that he thought deeply from a young age, That questions others left untouched would keep That unanswered questions would linger in his mind, His restless thoughts awake long after night, His restless thoughts stayed awake long into the night, While simple answers never felt quite right. While easy answers never seemed satisfactory. Sometimes he knew it—sometimes just believed— Sometimes he was aware of it—other times he just thought it was true— That he saw things others somehow never perceived. That he noticed things others didn't seem to see. And yes, there were a few he could outthink, And indeed, there were a few he could outsmart, A step ahead while others stopped to think. He was ahead while others paused to consider. He saw the patterns hiding in the noise, He noticed the patterns concealed in the chaos, The things between the words, the pause, the choice. The meanings hidden between words, the pauses, the decisions. But somewhere pride began to blur the view, But at some point, his pride started to distort his perspective, And he forgot that being sharp could blind him too. And he forgot that being too clever could also blind him. So conversations started feeling thin, So conversations began to feel superficial, Too much repeating, not enough within. Too much repetition, not enough depth. He'd speak of things that lived beneath the skin, He would discuss matters that lay beneath the surface, Of time and fear and why we carry sin. Of time, fear, and the reasons we bear guilt. They'd smile, he'd nod, and let the moment pass, They would smile, he would nod, and let the moment go by, Then wonder why connection always felt like glass. Then he would wonder why connection felt fragile. He started keeping more of life inside, He began to hide more of his life within, Where every contradiction could collide. Where every conflicting thought could clash. He questioned what he thought, then questioned that, He doubted his own thoughts, then doubted those doubts, And pulled apart the things he called a fact. And dissected the things he considered to be facts. He became a country only he could see, He became a world only he could perceive, A crowded world inhabited by one lonely me. A crowded place filled with only his loneliness. Yet there are nights he wonders what it means Yet on some nights, he ponders what it signifies To trade the difficult for easier scenes— To exchange the challenging for simpler situations— To settle for a hand that doesn't reach To accept a touch that doesn't connect The hidden places language cannot teach. To the hidden depths that words cannot convey. Would comfort be enough to make him stay, Would mere comfort be sufficient to keep him there, Or would some quiet part of him still drift away? Or would some silent part of him still wander off? Because solitude has never been the same Because solitude has never felt like As being understood without the game. Being understood without the pretense. He does not need a crowd to call him wise, He does not require a crowd to be deemed wise, Or someone dazzled by the way he sees the skies. Or someone impressed by his unique perspective. He wants a mind that questions him as well, He desires a mind that challenges him too, Someone who can wander where his thoughts compel. Someone who can explore where his thoughts lead. So he waits, though waiting wears him thin, So he waits, although waiting exhausts him, For someone whose strange frequencies fit his own skin; For someone whose unique vibrations resonate with him; Someone who can argue without war, Someone who can debate without conflict, Who sees the hidden door behind the door. Who perceives the concealed entrance behind the obvious. A soul aligned enough to understand A spirit in tune enough to comprehend The language neither ever had to plan. The unspoken language they never had to devise. And maybe he is foolish to believe And perhaps he is naive to think That somewhere there is someone he won't have to leave. That somewhere exists someone he won't have to abandon. Maybe the world is full of almosts, not exacts, Perhaps the world is filled with near misses, not certainties, Of beautiful mistakes and imperfect overlaps. Of lovely errors and flawed intersections. Still, he would rather guard that fragile flame Yet, he would prefer to protect that delicate light Than choose a life that never asks his mind to change. Than to live a life that never challenges his thoughts. For somewhere beyond all the noise he cannot bear, For somewhere beyond all the chaos he cannot tolerate, He believes there is a mind that will meet him there. He trusts there is a mind that will connect with him there.