Clay-making

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I am asking of things in which you can not give: voluntary attention. I yearn, better yet, crave the very taste and satisfcation I receive when I see those eyes gaze upon me. The pure enjoyment from appreciating one’s existance is an uncanny and spendid feeling for both ends. That to me, is love. Doubt arises questions, and questions call for answers to be formulated in order to make sense of particular situations. By entering into this very state though, it is apparent that what was once there is already gone. The delusionment and dense fog of vagueness is an exquisite journey, but not impossible to survive. Just as a sailor is caught in a tyrad of waves, the fog eventually clears out and he will return home once again. It is not the experiences that shape’s one, but the way they are determined and dealt with do. Here lies the very essence of what a person ought to become, which in itself, is contradictory. Through these encounters, one is forced to confront themselves and to take shape. The shape that is taken though is not a solid, unchanging one. It is one that is moulded into one state, but can be restructured and remoulded like clay. With the burning and melting of clay, a new shape can be made with a different purpose.

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