Are you afraid, of the touch which made you feel as if it had rained inside your whole body? -Rain, which stifled the fire within and made you reconsider the rules; rain, which slowed down time and made sublime moments flourish.
Weren’t you catapulted back into your safe haven, away from a sepulchral picture of the future, away from the infinite procession of life? Didn’t you step out of the quagmire that environed you?
She could never find a clear pure language, so she swayed, in some black alley, nowhere. She zoned out with heavy metal music blasting in her ears. She let her imagination forge profoundest of moments, which otherwise would have never led them anywhere. Moments which hung still in nothingness, and then were euphemistically called “something”. But beneath her beatific smile, lay no conditions. Beneath the vagueness of her words lay a solid foundation for a new beginning. Behind her stupidity, was a nervous confusion of all that could be said, all that should not be said, and ultimately, all that was actually said.
Did you think it was immoral when the feelings came gushing up to the throat, fearing that you might initiate something? Are you a patron of ignorance, rigid, and incapable of being drawn into an embrace?
You’re living in a split-level reality, you’re afraid to struggle with a panorama of possibilities. Can you indemnify her, for all the time she has lost thinking, maybe? Can you stand your ground in this boisterous sea of doubt, and hold on to an unequivocal answer, an unequivocal judgment? Can you curb your thoughts, only to traverse in a direction not cobbled by your hurtful thoughts?
She’s part of the devil’s conspiracy, as she helped abet the same.
Are you satisfied? That you’re not poles asunder after all? How many short-term scenarios did you make in your mind? How many times did you deceive her by sweetening her life? You took whatever you could get, to assuage your need, so did she.
Obscure theories, imbroglio of 21st century.
Cinderella ran wearing both of her shoes; and the prince came asking for one of them. It’s no fairytale, the glitter and glue is a mess. And a hundred white horses have gone berserk.