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Is there anything more beautiful than the language we speak? Not English, the language of mixed grammar and varied origins. All language. I speak two languages, and am learning a third. I can describe the world around me in three different ways, each as beautiful as the last. I can communicate with many different people, and bridge communication gaps between those who otherwise would not understand one another. If music be the food of love, language feeds the soul. Language aids us in a sense of belonging, as a means to express ourselves, as a tool for understanding those who are different from us. What could be more beautiful than understa

What does love look like? Everyone wants to know, but everyone's view is different. Love can be tall, short, fat, thin, any combination of features. Love changes, grows, flexes with time and age Always different, yet always the same Love comes, and love goes. Love has many stories, and many parts This is but one of many Love arrived a long time ago Love was sweet, a dear friend Love cared for me exactly the way I thought it should Extremely close and protected Never afraid of harm Love drove me insane And love left Love came once more, a dear dear friend Love played with me and held me Made me laugh when I thought I couldn't And showed me

I enter into an almost dreamlike state - flying, sparkling, the world beneath my feet. I can do anything I choose to. Sure, there are bad moments. Perhaps too much to do, a test or task of some description that challenges and frustrates, but for the most part, I fly high above the world. I've done it. But all is not right, in my dream. I can see my body falling apart, feel my mind go into spins of emotion from sheer exhaustion. I am exhausted - happy, but unable to do more, and it is my body and mind that feel the toll from it. I know this is the case, and yet I reach for more. And I fall. I become increasingly ill, in mind and in body. I

I wander through the courtyard, smiling. Genuine, deep down contentment - it's been so long No more do I have to run Hide, be afraid of myself I may still be uncertain But I trust in that uncertainty, and in myself I thought that when you left, my life would fall apart Already I was anxious, dependant, Clinging to the hope that the person you once were would return to me Rather than the person I came home to - cold, bitter and angry You scared me, but no more I don't need you now I know now I should have left, long ago Should have seen the damage you were doing But the past is the past No point in regretting, or holding anger What happened

I am scared of death. Scared of the darkness, beyond the thin veil of life and into the unknown. How does one even begin to comprehend that place? Is science right? Do our brains just lose electricity and we become part of the earth we lived on, just more unknowing objects in the universe? Or is there some sort of force that lets us live on as a consciousness, a spirit? We'll not know until it's too late. Thoughts of the dark crush my soul, make me wonder why nature forces us through this short span of life only for it to come to an end. Why people live their lives knowing that it can never last. And then I stop. I stop and look back at th

I stumbled down the corridor, blindly searching for the door that would take me back to where I was before. Seemingly endless white corridors stretched out in front of me, with uniformly black doors lining the walls. I tried every door I saw – some were locked, some just took me back into the same corridor, some even had a sort of force field that wouldn't let me go near them. I could hear a pounding in my skull, a rushed drumbeat that drove me to run faster and faster until my legs buckled underneath me.  I slammed myself against a wall, sinking lower and lower until I was curled up in a ball on the floor, finally surrendering to the no

I wander through the dank, dark corridors, desperately seeking the fantastic sight I've been told of. It's like a maze in here, black walls, black everything, with only the dimmest light to guide my way. As I get deeper in, the walls start to give off a sort of glow. It's a bit creepy, but I know it means I'm getting closer.  I turn a corner, and there it is at last. The Machine. It's nothing like I expected, but every bit as entrancing as I was told. It fills the room, larger than any sort of machine I've ever seen before, but also odder than any before. I take a closer look. It's been made out of everyday objects, some old and some new -  a