There’s reading and then there’s ruminating.
Regarding your writing, there are your comments, IE. conversations, your Poems and your personal essays or stories.
The conversations are complicated, because they are typically personal and pointed in nature, thus it feels like butting into a conversation at a party or walking by a few people and saying, “I like the part of the conversation there, that I overheard. Carry on, I’m going to walk over there now.”. Which is just odd and often doesn’t feel comfortable. To further complicate matters, the nature of the posts of people that one follows showing up in ones feed on here is inconsistent at best, especially in regards to their conversations.
To the Poems, although I write a few myself on occasion, my comprehension of them is limited by my ignorance of how poetry functions. If they don’t rhyme, I’m often perplexed as to how they are considered a poem.
Your essays and stories are deep and carry a great deal of weight. To those that are wanting in regards to empathy and are unfamiliar with the experiences exposed in them, they are pathetic comedies. To those that have stores of empathy, but lack similar experiences, they are learning experiences. To those of us who are burdened by crushing mounds of empathy and can relate in part or whole with the narrative, they are creatures that burrow down and free entities from their brass barred rooms. Thus, the rumination.
I must confess that although I have read your stories from the past few months, I do have a backlog of your older stories bookmarked for future reading.
Maybe my minds rumination of your words is expanding their gravity and evocative nature, or maybe you are harder on yourself then you are on anyone else and are more willing to find beauty in others words then in your own.
I’ll end this by asking you to never believe that you are incapable of surpassing yourself, that is, always believe that you are capable of surpassing yourself.