The deepest darkest secrets carry us over into the weeds
hidden in depths of discreet selections.
We write down in books things we want to say, do, speak, be, but some never address them out loud our hearts pounding in our ears.
Each one of us races away from the adrenalin inside trying to escape it.
What is in the interior follows us, tracks us, stays until we subside to it; give in, as it’s a part of us.
The side shunned by the unknown. Instabilities sway my equilibrium making me question what is before me. Even when sides are chosen one wonders which one is meant for them?
Angela K. Crandall