Bruno Savoie
1 min readNov 24, 2022

When theres nothing to write about,

Or to think about,

Or to draw about,

Or to talk about,

Or to sing about,

Contemplate creation,

Contemplate it thoroughly,

What splendor,

Sometimes its unbearable to me,

The weight of existence,

The magnitude of creation,

It’s preposterous even,

No words can explain the way I feel,


That’s why I struggle to express my feelings so,

They are inarticulable,

But to me they are the most special thing,

A special, special kind of thing,

Unthinkable really,



I am,

I’m a sensitive little guy,

I cry almost at the slightest provocation,

I don’t like it really,

I’ve tried to make myself tough,

But to no avail,


I’m just a timid, inquisitive, and sensitive,

Kind of guy,

It’s my story,


It’s the plot,

And that’s not only okay,

It’s ravishingly empowering to own this kind of peculiarity,

For I suppose,

And everyday,

I grow more and more sure,

It’s how God intended me to be,

And you too,

I seek to relate to people only through the eye of uniqueness,

That’s it,

It’s plainly simple,

Untruth disrupts me,

So be truthful please,

I implore,

Look to my eyes,

And see that I can love you truly,

If you love me truly,

Nothing further,

Though immense it is,

Nothing shorter,

Though infinitesimally small it may be,

That’s all,

I appreciate you,

Very much so.

An unbelievable kind of joy comes from simply crying.