A musing after I scraped my fucking thumb

One does not value the good until the good has been stripped away from him. Case in point, I really wish I still had the strip of skin on my thumb. Every time I brush against something, it fucking hurts. This level of appreciation is unnatural though. Who goes through their days, praising the skin on his thumb? Conversely, this lack of appreciation can contort the most wonderful things one can possess in life. How does one straddle the line between delusion and truth then? Are things as good/bad as one makes it? Perhaps, in the end, a person only has his perspective; to lose is to widen one’s perspective. Enough neckbeard philosopher talk: I miss you.

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alanwrites

unadulterated writing straight from my head entiendoenglish@gmail.com