Life is so crushing at times. I wonder how they do it. People who connect dots. They fall in love while disregarding the countless ways life’s moments may or may not be connected.
The consistency of balance will forever be a mystery, for love is a cloud we can only fall through. Even angels pay attention to caution signs warning of thin ice, thin cloud.
Contemplating on my back in the open fields. Keeping my eyes open to the sky. Cloudy, sunny, starry, or dark, the distance mends my heart.
Falling through that cloud we call nine is excruciatingly painful, but never deadly. Strange paradoxes as such convolute reality while substantiating dreams.
I have conversations with blank pages. There are times during which they don’t say anything back. Other times they say too much. At all times irresolute.
White voids neatly backed with black lines demand an explanation for who I once was, who I am, and who I’ll never be.
I can never give an honest answer.
To do so would require evolvement from intrinsic pain solidified by recollections consistent since childhood.
Memories much too cold for warm tears.
To melt such fragments of the mind, a single drop would Cost a thousand brigades from the fires of hell.