UnPositive -+-

I am not exactly all there as to why reality works in the ways that is does. Life is like an extravagent way of reading. The fine lines of the literature should be spoken through the surroundings of how the words recite themselves and play out on to the pages. If the words around are well structured and full of fanciful lettering and well developed sentences then the fluidity of the book will flow past in a steady stream of emotion and pure bliss. Everyone's life has that one chapter well all is good and times are free.

If the words clash and destroy all thoughts and processes of the book and are a torrented mess of several paragraphs into one short incomplete theory... then all is lost. Corruption of the life amongst the pages are destroyed and it can lead to a very wrong impression to not only the autobiographer of the book, but to the whole of the life. Extended metaphors are only for romantics and the internally disrupt. You can write all day long, and mean not a word of which you speak. That is why you have to read in between the lines of the book to get the whole scenario. If you do not read in between the person then you get a warped dysfunctional film in your head of what YOU think the person is supposed to be to you.

Although you can sometimes be misled, chapters in books can suddenly end just as soon as they began. Just right when everything starts and gets settled all can come to a flying halt, right when the rising action hits you, the sudden falling action and the conclusion ends with out the audience even knowing what happened to them. Sometimes it just might be better to read in between the lines and listen to not how the characters respond in the dialogue but how they tend to react and the WAY that they respond to each other that gives a sudden gift and understanding to the world. As life plays in this way is how a friendship can begin and then die a sudden not really horrid but a polietly understanding way. Mere acquintance can just remain among the two.

Life is like an extravagent piece of literature. Paying attention to life as we know it and reading the books are like our lives pieced into one full bound book. We are bound to life as the pages are bound to the binding of a book. Reading the words on pages... Life remains unknown in the blank pages in the back.