We swirl is white pearls
Early lovers, late fates
Million people and smoky curls
Tears roll down slowly...
... a bit too late.
They're falling fast with a pitter patter of drops; drops that define melancholy with unreasonable clarity. When memories suffice all that you stand for; when the past is much more clear than the present ever can be. And then I remember that as night has to become day, the present has to become the past... looks like clarity is just a few moments away now.
Surrounded by things that define memories and sins that define pleasure is a paradox that I love being wrapped around. A melody of it's own kind that creates symphonies every time it finds place to rest in some crevice of my mind... and sometimes in a corner of my heart.
I never have reasons for the words I pen or the thoughts I feel... but somewhere, to someone, I make absolute sense... and that's the comfort of the outside world.
Paradoxical love affairs with words are quite easy to form and childish fantasies of fairytale-like endings are possible -- if you know how to look at the shine in every gray element.
I am so tired of waiting.
Why can't time just go fast and why can't memories come right back around?
Sometimes we need some fucking fairy tales.
Some clouds to walk on and some talking birds.
Maybe a glass slipper or two.
And a high, high tower where we can be asleep for a few thousand years only to wake up to be kissed by lips that long for you and wrapped in arms that can keep you safe and warm for possibly as long as you want to remember.
These are a few things I would like... a few things I would redefine myself for.
I'll get them someday...
Someday I will burn through the winter and freeze through the heat...
That's the day I'll probably take my last breath and then I'll stand for far more than everyone who thinks the world exists in only black and white.
Remember... I was the gray in between.