O the Feels

There is a young woman setting pot pies on the balcony wall to breathe; she believes nature will kiss them with sweet fragrance and taste. How could she be wrong with such radiance bursting through her long maroon hair. Her smile reminds me of the first time in my entire existence when I was happy. My heart grows flowers for her, and each glance at her makes me feel at home. Jobe Blanco said, "The hardest thing about being an outcast isn’t the love you don’t receive. It’s the love you long to give that nobody wants." Years lingered and my spirit was poisoned by the people that had refused the love I gave. But at the bottom of my heart, however, I waited for something to happen like castaway turning despairing eyes upon the solitude of my life, seeking for a great perhaps. When I could not bear to bear the weight of such loneliness, I would occasionally burst into wrenching sobs of anguish and grief. The connections in my heart flickered and dimmed like a candle in an open window. Everything was inside out. All the highs and lows.