Experienced? or not experienced?

I can look pass my folded mountain of laundry, pass my empty cup of coffee at midnight, and carelessly look about the books among me. 

I can pretend I am not an adult, not in college, or I can pretend I am inexperienced. But I'm far from being "experienced," because I continue to grow--that is, if I want to grow, and if I'm willing to grow. 

Words cannot really express my complexity, nor can I express even my inane ramblings. 

From the inside-out I continue "experiencing." But I cannot do it by my own strength.

Words of a quiet girl cannot satisfy my attempt to muse deeply into an (and to this point, a degree of an) experienced adult. 

*sighs*

Whisper-less tongues

Sometimes, I look through lens and wonder, "what is it I'm seeing?"

There's little depth I see in many places and people. I search for the heart, especially after a certain message. However, there is none engaged.

I'm alone in the pews... Wondering, "what is really the condition of my heart, and why does it bother me to see others who aren't concerned of their own?" maybe it is that I am concerned of the condition of mine, because I know there is bitterness within the depth of my soul.

I'm alone in the pews at the end... With the spotlight hugging the breathing and living skin of mine, who is just yearning for eternity in heaven soon.

There's a time, in-between.

A calm waiting, so I can breathe.

Promise.