And then there are those moments that can not be grasped in words, its cool filigree and fragility as when catching snowflakes melt away.
When it is dark and quiet, well after midnight. Orange light outside, blue inside without drowsiness and fatigue. And in this beautiful unspoilt way only if one is alone.
noise Affairs: memories, sense fragments, fragments of thought, you could sink into infinity. Nothing, nobody. Only one self-Image, which you must present or should, wants to not be fulfilled expectations and commitments. Only at night. Probably only in those abandoned moments can be comforting loneliness - with the right music is the yearning never more beautiful.
~ * ~
Just because one has to learn and is not perfect (in thought and in feeling and not also generally not), it does not mean to be scum. Rankings are always, always, always subjective, you know that. Do you collect your own experience.
What you need, all inhibitions and inhibition, may allow defiance must learn, is a valve for the tensions - something that really is good to flow out and let alone just for you is. You are not dependent on love, if you can love yourself.
heart to the rhythm of falling and floating.
self prudence ... Departure and search and vitality in me and through me alone, once, really quite to feel resolved, the wild and distant birds alike. No one will understand you
ever quite, no one will ever quite understand you - in the end we are and remain all alone, but why it's bad, but if we care for ourselves and we meet at various levels can ? If I know there is nothing left, except myself, is the sense of awareness incomparable.
for me and I actually really important. Because so much in fact is so ridiculous ...
The world and its people fall into your hands like sand stone, trickle through into the void between your fingers and what remains is an impression that an echo - like a drop of blood on snow, reaches for more, into the water falling corn that grows in circles. Bouncing blur expand, pass away. And from then stamped inside.
A longing which can thus cause only the absence of something that never really was there. Insatiable. The shudder-making soul-grazing whiff of something untenable, the water whipped up yet then back away until he is long gone, passed. Never enough of it to inhale.
Gliding on drowsiness, get drawn in apathy and against the wall feeling drunk.
You're so close, so un-graspable close, only those shimmering translucent wall between us, to us (like everything and everyone, the order itself and the white) separated - and you see do not know nothing of it because you do not want it. Perhaps these are only illusions, only dreams and a cocoon (mine, in the case) crazy brain (perhaps just inflamed already burning, they sing-scream) - How real is reality - and why should I I worry about something that is just as true as the space which I give him?
[And reason alone I call myself omission to this sentiment's sake.]
In the blackness I'm just disappears and everything else fades into the nothingness. And then you listen, the whispering sound of the driving current.
~ * ~
have the 'I have so written in about two years ago, in autumn or early winter, and it could be by now. Repeats itself simply everything, takes his seemingly endless circles. This time, too. Writing triggers and word choice are almost identical, unintended, unconscious - until just now. Is
the laugh, cry or both, or nothing? I think I'll take nothing.
For this moment - - -
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