Stuff

We get stuff. We give stuff and then we get more stuff. They tempt us from our TV screens, from the windows in the mall and the aisles of the grocery stores. Then we crave more, thinking we can store for a raining day which is not in season.

We get angry at these stuff that used to be of great joy, suffocating us, blinding us from the true beauty of our surroundings or the hurt we dare not expose. No we'd rather be comfortable in the mess the stuff has created because working to get rid of them will only reap the dirt buried inside us, the hurt the well polished image have masked.

We avoid the stuff with excuses of time and resources but the truth is, we're afraid. Afraid to confront the pain the stuff can't seem to heal. The loneliness of a void the shopping trip couldn't feel.

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