This life is our shared dream.We all may meet again in reality.
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I grew up listening to my mother scoff at all the T.V shows and books that I watched or read. She told me how it was all ‘rubbish’ and ‘garbage’. But the thing is, I think somehow, watching along the show I also grew up. I know everyone says that, like when Good Luck Charlie ended everyone was upset and was like ‘I grew up now its gone!’ Or ‘Aww. My childhood gone’ But its not like that with me. I actually grow and learn more things about myself. And some of the shows or books I watched/read, motivated me. They were always there. So if that is the definition of ‘rubbish’ and ‘garbage’ than please. Cover me in filth.

Obsession. It starts with a spark. A flicker. At the strike of a match. Lying dormant in most of us, obsession feasts on the fumes, breathes in the smoky scent, curing around and in on itself. Building. We pet it, nurse it into existence. It is ours. All ours. A coveted perfection. And when it refuses to be ignored, it rages. It roars to life. A building inferno. Consuming. We are but pawns to its deceptive power. Though we attempt to guide it, caress it tenderly into a loving beauty, it can not be controlled. It’s a haunted, vengeful lover. Like a wildfire devouring life within it’s path, we can only follow it’s carnal trail.

We’re a society of brats, fighting over the same toys. That, for me, is the closest we come to be inherently evil as a people. It leads to selfishness, inflexibility, and impatience — among so many other traits that are ugly and harmful. We’re combative, competitive, petty, and suffer from one fatal flaw that I can never get my head around. We recognize behavior in others that makes us insane, while turning right around and doing the exact thing to someone else.

The first and last weakness of his life, before him again. For a moment he felt himself blinded by his own memories; his own remembrances of the wits and wiles of Marian Halcombe that would steal into his thoughts; the sound of her laughter at his outrageous tales, the shadowed glance of distrust, the way her eyebrows would raise ever so slightly despite her resolution to seem disinterested in his foreign insights. She was the first woman he ventured to have complete equality in matching his tremendous cleverness.