"My mind is a well"; this is a poem I was about to write, but I'm tired of writing about pain. I write because I feel. I guess I've always known it, just never completely acknowledged the reason. This is the frame of a picture. No one really pays any attention to the border around the still memory that is a picture. No one really pays any attention to what holds that memory which was so precious as to be photographed and framed and hung on a wall for all to see. "The frame isn't the important part," some will say. Well, tell that to the swordsman with no sheath to his sword.
I do have pain, but also happiness; just like everyone else. But they aren't what make the person. What you do with them is what determines who you are. I've known this and preached it for the longest time, for what seemed an eternity, those few short years, but now I'm finally acknowledging the full truth of it, and including my own self into the equation. No more preaching, no more lies, no more betrayal. I will take what life gives me. I will change what I can to my liking, and accept that which is unavoidable. Choice, perhaps the strongest word of all.
