A Diadem of Thorns

At the root of the tree of my mind sits a diadem of thorns.
It supports my every thought as a solid foundation, to which every strand grows from and returns to. When I think of it, my heart floods with a strange happiness. On some days, I feel only contentment; gratitude that the diadem warmly pads the walls of my mind. No thoughts can harm me. No shout, or curse, or unassuming little word can stab through the layers, upsetting my bits of order.

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A Letter to Optimists

Dearest,
I write not to attack you, for once. While I don’t adhere to your passionate hope and assurance that things will always be okay no matter what, it isn’t from disdain. As I’m sure you know, for some time, it has been. After all, it’s a simple and (still, in my opinion) reasonable way of thinking: if I expect the worst, I won’t have any disappointment if (or when, really) it occurs. Which, at some point, is inevitable. The added bonus is perhaps some grim satisfaction at the end when I am proven right.

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Party

The house was a mess. Empty glass bottles rolled on the wooden floor at her passage to the front door.
“It was great. Thanks for everything, Christine”
She didn’t have the articulation to express her thoughts clearly. Alcohol made her mind stutter.
“I know. I’m gonna miss you a-a-all of you, and this”

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Thoughts of a Dying Man

The crackling wood in the fireplace and the violent gusts of wind, which slammed their way to the window, lullabies the old man.
He sank in his red velvet armchair with his legs outstretched on a matching footstool. It was his favourite spot in the whole house. On the walls, hundreds of books with the knowledge of thousands of years watched old Peter Bennet, the Spike as he was known in the military, fading away from this world.

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The Realization

There’s a moment each day that is unlike any moment you will ever experience again. It’s the moment just before you open your eyes. You begin to understand in your conscious mind that you are awake and no longer dreaming. You are still under the spell of your dreaming mind, though you begin to slowly accept waking up. In this moment, every single morning, you are reborn into whatever it is you choose.

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A Bedtime Story

I shall tell you this, for it is important that you know it.

There was a time when giants roamed the earth. They were so tall that birds nested in their hair. Why, the heads of the tallest would brush clouds from time to time. They were a peaceful people, with only love printed upon their hearts. They loved the stream that gave them drinks. They loved the forest and all of her creatures. And when humans came to be, the giants loved them too.

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