When I was seven or so, I loved pocket knifes. Especially old ones with curved blades. I tried to collect them as much as a seven year old could. I felt like as long as I had one I would be okay. I think now that I thought this because I felt that as long as I had a certain means to die if I wanted to, everything would always be okay.. I spent hours laying in my bed staring into the space between my body and the ceiling, with one of those beautiful pocket knife blades over my heart, wondering about what would happen to me if I plunged the knife in, where I would go, what would happen to my mind, my spirit. I yearned for the experience of other worlds.
I still think they're beautiful.
"you still have that knife pointing at your heart, you just don't know what you want to know
maybe one of your goals in life is just to come back to this state, to know what you want to know.
you just have to come back to yourself, re-open this door, and go into it.
you just have to believe in it and it will come." - 2009
maybe one of your goals in life is just to come back to this state, to know what you want to know.
you just have to come back to yourself, re-open this door, and go into it.
you just have to believe in it and it will come." - 2009
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