To Define Is To Limit

Inspiration: The Picture Of Dorian Gray

I have my own theory on it:
Imagine walking through the corridors of your beneath or
maybe another universe,
at every turn,
you meet a version of yourself
who never got to exist.
Who spoke out,
the one who wasn’t afraid,
the one who dared to try to fail, to feel.
These aren’t strangers.
They’re you,
the ghosts of who you could have been.
And at some point you start to wonder:
How will you forgive yourself for
becoming less than you were capable of?

Because every time you define yourself,
put yourself in a cage,
a golden cage maybe
but a cage is still a cage
and
you reduce your vastness to a level you shrink.
And that’s the tragedy
That’s gruesome
Even criminal.

We are so much more than what we can explain.
But we keep trying to explain anyway.
It doesn’t happen only when expressing who you are.
It happens whenever
you’re trying to express
something deep
something meaningful.
The moment you try to put it into words,
something gets cut off.

The feeling loses its edge.
The truth becomes blurry.
It’s never the full truth
just a piece of it.
In that sense, we’re all liars.
Not completely,
but partially.
Because language can’t carry
the whole weight of truth.
That’s the nature of nature.
That’s the imperfection of souls.

But maybe that’s what makes it tortuously beautiful.
Because even knowing
we’ll never fully say it
we still try.
And maybe that effort,
that reaching,
is what makes us real.
And chasing that
I realized
the full conversation happens
between a man and his God
He never seeks for words.
He knows the heart,
the soul
And what’s beneath

Also things
we’ll never even think of expressing
Thus silence became the language of nature.