Octopus Dreaming

I feel irresistibly confident about the next few moments of my life.
Insecurity is like watching pain exuding from a person's mouth. The lack of confidence is painful and uncomfortable to be comfortable with. It's as if these little pieces of life are coming together, all at once. I must feel like a poet once again and no longer being restrained. Fulfilling that need, to no longer need. I am full. And that's all.
I must say this is an experience of believing in the unexpected. These last months will trickle away, and I'm going to breathe it in no matter the struggle. Even typing these words out doesn't give me much the pleasure of already being comfortable with the substitution of guilt.
My eyes have been giving away a lot that has been inside.
To discover is to run wildly into your own mind. Breathe from within your own belly, and open the doors that will calm you in the end. You do know, it turns out that you knew all along, so to repeat would be foolish, and you are no fool. Give a little, take a little, which is what I did, and have received a lot in return.

From now on I will wear everything I have been afraid to show off in public, for the pure celebration of life. I enjoy those moments in which I am floating in evanescence, like water, and my toes fall asleep. How peculiar that all these things occur so irrationally, and we get mad at everything's horrible timing, when we already know that this is already our novel to write and nobody else's. I won't praise any single idol in order to not withdraw my own self from wonder. And that is usually the case. I am rather small, but already squeeze into those shoes I have worn once in a far away dream. And it's all good, in this neighborhood.