Beloved vices, not ready to let go. Every each moment vacant of satisfaction but filled with intense intensity, a mind rumbling and stumbling, lacking the right color of words and the very skills to sleep but too aware of the fact that growing up now is a priority. Well, THE priority, to be precise.
The rhythms of unwanted birth throw me in one corner of the room and smash me at my own walls, seemingly broken I rest for a moment just to hear the thunder voice that makes everything tremble in fears and tears: get up on your knees again!
Trying to be both, the victor and the victim, the heroine of my dreams and the wretch of my too blatantly obvious past. It sits there, on my window sill, grinning with crooked teeth, ready to devour every assumption that might dare to think otherwise.
The obscurity of night is very welcome and the numbing escapes of real slumber dreams, designed to live my life instead of me. If I could pay them doing so, would I hesitate?
Everybody is gone not because I wanted them to but because this is what it takes. Isolation in battles with social fits of obsolete communication.
Welcome in the cruel world. Have you forgotten? The beauty is in the hands of love. Eternally imperfectly.reinventing itself.
1 comment:
Very nice, Emeralda. As usual, I am so very intrigued by your style of writing.
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