Power of Love

I remember singing to the gospel song with all my heart during my teenage years.

And nope, this isn’t about the usual I-could-feel-the-presence-and-how-its-working-in-my-life shit, I honestly don’t feel that anymore, and I’m even wondering how come my heartstrings were pulled at that time. Oh to be young and naive l o l. This is just me thinking what the fuck out loud because — seriously?

I just came off from an errand I’ve been doing my whole life (which is fine, kinda wish I won’t have to do it anymore tho lol because I’m freaking thirty-one but anyway). This requires me to spend a good number of minutes bearing with whatever heck they choose to lure themselves into. In this case, it’s a gospel playlist on loop, in loud speaker.

It’s not the song’s fault, actually.

It’s good, it’s all good.

Just that my mind is fucked with the fact that they could go on singing to these songs all day everyday yet the actions and words that they speak are in no way reflective of any of the lines. I mean, wow. The energy is admirable.

I must be weak for not being able to go on with what I was doing peacefully — it was such a chore for me concentrating while involuntarily listening because I simply did not identify with it. I couldn’t pretend that I did. I couldn’t because I understand how it means so much for a lot of people [who really do] and I don’t, I can’t and I shouldn’t ruin it for them.

Beneath the {face} mask I was wearing was myself who couldn’t stop saying fuck, fuck, fuck.

As soon as I’m done, I got up fast and went back to my desk to throw up through this confession entry.