“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies“- Aristotle
Sitting still, I stand and wander and wonder.
The next move is mine; I cannot see the line.
My contradict, my mull , my pathetic ways
leave me befitting for my own misery.
The drops of rain altering my countenance
leave me drenched in a noise that I have so eloquently denied its pardon.
My utopia is revealed, and my strengths have now weakened
down to the bare cold bone, rewriting every single line to this song.
My mourning is desolate, and this gut-wrenching silence leaves me searching for my remote in the dark.
Without the whimper, without the throes, without my pathos, I cannot regain myself completely and honestly.
Tho time will show me or snow me or make me grow beyond today, today is not ever going to be erased.
This has stained. Stained my pons, and my routes, and my dreams, leaving tracks and traces of glitter all over my maze awaiting the light to reveal its glimmer.
But I look in front of myself and all I see is my back walking away, and all I want to do is grab that ponytail and stop myself.
But I don’t- I am just one, and every coin has two sides and tails it lands,and my facade, well, it is just temporary.
It is what I see, what I feel, what I know to be real, but my real must fade back from reality to its own fantasy of which it bloomed.
The most complicated simplicity needs no uncoiling, no restraints, no prodding at down to some bleak, mundane five letter word, nor four, nor three.
But these are not the lines that stretch far enough out to reach the other side of the ocean.
These are the lines of which I have created.
These are the lines that fade out into the abyss, forever searching for its counterpart.
The lines that blur romanticism and realism and any ism created thereafter, never really coming to the full stop but never linking, never syncing, never bonding those molecules that get it to its full octet.