down in me

I am easily misled, mishandled, mistaken. Described as gullible, naive and yes, at times, innocent. (I know. I don’t see it, either.) In truth, my usual instinct, suspect as things may be, is beyond and by far wholesome acceptance. But don’t for a moment think me ignorant. I am decidedly aware of this suspension. Conscious and purposeful because I need to:

Feel that there is meaning still to come
Experience agonising truths
Believe in alien encounters and other far-fetched ideals
Understand that death is more than just stalking me

If I don’t feel, experience, believe or understand (which I don’t), I have a double mind to put a full stop to it all right here and right then, in this place and the other immediately. Sans notes or regrets or regretful notes.

But (beside and besides fear) an intangible lingers. Akin to a thin, imperceptibly silver thread that keeps me connected–no, bound–to the earth and its shepherds turned hunters. So, I will continue to hand you my undying belief, think it over, twist it through and gladly pass it along with all the innocence reserved for only this. I do it willingly, wittingly, I premeditate my immolation.

Partake or don’t, as only you can see fit. But go on, in all and any case: push me down the rabbit hole and take me by surprise.