“You know that feeling you get when you’re standing in a high place, sudden urge to jump? I don’t have it.” – Jack Sparrow standing at the edge of a cliff in On Stranger Tides

Today I realized exactly how clueless I am when it comes to blogging. I would like to establish some sort of pattern or theme, but unfortunately I haven’t exactly discovered myself as a writer yet, and I don’t think my breakthrough will occur anytime soon. I’m blindly navigating my writing capabilities as if I lost my sight yesterday. It’s random and spontaneous, which makes out to be an adventure for me, but unlikely to attract anyone’s attention. I hope any attention I receive results in inspiration anywhere on its spectrum. I hope my disorganized posts linger in the minds of ghost readers, or at the very least, that my words are respected. Today I wrote a short little excerpt on myself from a third person perspective. But I don’t know how to write a short story and to be honest, I’ve thus far been too intimidated to give it an honest try. Regardless of what this post is, I hope someone enjoys it. 

She was a silent wanderer, an observer, a wild free thinker. Her words were like the blank space between heavy handed drawings of earth and sky, crafted by a crayon bearing child; few and far between. Social pressures squashed her literacy, and therefore her power to link herself to others was weak and forced. The people she had carefully and selectively filtered into her life were the limit of her human interactions, as in every other scenario she was unapproachable. Her demeanor sealed her in tightly and tucked her away discreetly from all social opportunities. Unwittingly, she was cut off from the entirety of the world, living in a bubble that hardly provided her space to breathe.

In silence, her imagination was heightened. Nothing crossing her path went unnoticed. Many ordinary things became canvases in her mind upon which she would paint layers of colorful stories and beauty. She felt less alone ordaining herself with powers, believing she could magically transform anything using only the light of her mind. But she would often find that whatever she used to fill the hungry ache never satiated her desires to feel a part of the human race. In fact, she felt rather alien among the species. All she needed to shed the hollowness of isolation were a handful of relationships, whatever they may be. But she required a certain depth in these relationships that proved increasingly difficult to find. This search for her place in humanity felt akin to a treasure hunt without a map or compass to guide her. So she drew her own maps, in hopes that one day any of them might lead to anything significant and worthwhile. She’d been through too much pain to choose lightly. She feared people and what they were capable of. She’d built a wall for a reason, and it served its purpose. The sensitivity of her heart and soul were too delicate for her not to be picky. No matter how desperate she became, she refused to lower herself to friendships that lacked recognition of her value. She would not sit idly by as people took advantage of her, as if it were a sort of cheap sacrifice in exchange for a false sense of community. In these great gaps between people, she found excessive time to discover herself. She had plenty of time to learn who she was, to plan where she was going, to map out the course of her life. She worked on controlling her emotions, identified strengths and weaknesses, discovered her passions, and everyday she could trace the patterns of her mind with increasing accuracy. She projected a radiant light in these long nights, but ironically, the sun disguised her during the day. So despite its affiliation with pain, the dawn of night was her safest place.

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