Wrenches and screwdrivers.

The brevity of life is normally measured in years, hours, minutes, and seconds.

It's harder to measure it in the things that we remember. 

It's heart-wrenching to think about all of the warm times in the fire 

and the cold times of being shut out.

All of the hearts that we were given and stole.

Any of the laughs that we shouldn't have had. 

The good grades, the music, the words that were never said,

and were archived behind secret doors. 

The people who we never fully reached and shut us out. 

There are so many memories that I'm not sure that I'll ever want to remember 

after I've gone. 

How many of them happen in such a brief time. 

While I've wasted it looking at all of the feelings that seem to hurdle at me, 

but if that isn't what life is, then what is?

Life seems to therive from the things that we do and in the things that we feel,

we find solace and knowledge, and lessons. 

Yet, while we try to find the meaning of life,

life seems to have flown by and back. 

I'd rip my heart out just to understand any of it. 

But all of that for the good of the mind must be a sin.

Humans may spend their lives linking the mind to the heart,

with a thin, plastic covered electric cord, 

and it would never create a spark because

the heart is a thing that the mind will never understand, 

and the mind is a thing that the heart would never care about. 

Sometimes I think both organs should have been given 

completely separate bodies that could have loved each other. 

It's a completely mad thought, 

yet in a twisted metaphorical way it makes sense. 

The heart gives the mind enough throughts and 

the mind keeps the heart alive. 

It's another mad thought that two people can live this mad life together and

learn together.

Everything on this Earth seems so abrupt and rushed. 

You're born, 

you get cuts and tiny scrapes,

you're expected to learn with everything being screamed at you,

You go through a never ending cycle of love and puch back, 

and before the bat of an eyelash, 

you're nearly going off into a world that no one seems to belong in,

and you're expected to claw, and shove your way through everything. 

And in between, we are expected to grow.

Never alone, yet always feeling it. 

Knowing that at some point, this will all end completely and

there will come a time in history when no one will try to remember 

the persistance in your existance. 

Into the Twilight zone goes all of the things that you thought mattered. 

They all go to someone else that you may never know. 

Life stories are never finished pieces of work because 

you never get to write out the ending yourself. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.