Structure, detachment, distance, only bring chaos, craving, and confinement.
I’m naive, idealistic, innocent. I’m cold, calculated, cruel.
Your kindness will only ever be exploited by callous people who suffer. Forgive them and love them anyway. You are too bright of a light to burn out, so burn on.
These pieces are somehow stitched together, slowly playing in symphony. A somber cello, the strings of a harp, a hopeless violin.
I hoped for an adventure and now I ache for a silent sea. I don’t think I have it in me. The glittering horizon or a misplaced house? Should I choose walls or water? Does my contentment come only in a sealed container?
That vastness. The infinite stretching of space and stars, the dissociation, the driftwood. His fingers drawing circles on my shoulder, hearts wrapped in rusted ropes, shipwrecked. That drug-like passion that seems to come only with impermanence. Lovers lying between bedsheets, burdened by the twisted weight of wanting. We’re so desperately trying to hold on to what we should let go. Look at us – both parts missing the best parts in front of us. Both seeking refuge from the hurricanes and avalanches within us.
Where doors slam shut, doors gently close.
His gentle whispers warp you.