You are a superior individual. Yes you reading the words off this paper. I love you. I am an entertainer who wishes only to amuse you with my silly strings of words. I yearn for you to understand, you are why I write and that I write to be heard. I make use of the word ‘love’ frivolously, but its’ connotation is still sturdy. I feel as if I am a vessel, and those who voyage through me can explore what I hope for them to perceive, to inspire them to create and to dream. Whether or not one chooses to pursue a fantasy it is continuously healthy to encompass one. To possess a respect for creativity and an incentive to impel oneself broader than a body with no motives ever could. Love. What a remark. I undergo love differently then others do. I don’t deem it as ever a burden, only a channel into a new world of uneasy pleasure, to be happy, and to stay blissful. I think of a heart. I think of it beating, its reverberating “lub-dub” sound wracking my brain of its pointless concepts, breaking me out of the small box I feel trapped in for the common hours of a given day. Its recurrence is never ending, only getting quicker with each passing thump. I look to my audience; my crowd, practically breathing down my skinny neck, awaiting for the unveiling of true potential. Still they wait and so do I. I put pencil to paper and struggle till my hands develop a pulse similar to the hearts’ I sense even as I write this now. I anxiously await my genuine potential as I wait for true love, for a reason to exist and a purpose ‘to be.’ I know one-day I will discover a vocation and it is this craving for love, to discover my purpose, that inspires me, and I am still waiting.