Perhaps, when I find myself older
and I find myself wiser, I shall reminisce at this brief period in my life and
think how passive it truly was.
You do not own me.
There is no possible way to own
something so ideological. Such as this time. Such as this. Such as me.
Perhaps, when I find myself rid of
all past pretenses and I find myself rid of all ghosts, I shall reminisce at
this brief phase in my life and reflect on how grandiose it all truly was.
For he: the ghost. All past
ghosts do not chain me in place.
There is no possible way to chain
the wind. She is the wind. She is such perforating scent. She is me.
Perhaps, when I find myself standing
at my utmost pinnacle and I find myself the epitome of such a pinnacle, I shall
reminisce at this brief passage in my life and ponder how coherent it truly
was.
Love, I relinquish all predestined
forms. All troubles. All sour tastes left behind.
There is no possible way to mask the heart. Round, expressive. Brown, stark. Eyes radiant, sweetheart.
Perhaps, when I find myself older and
I find myself wiser, I shall reminisce of what was, what could never be, and
what long has passed.
Crude truths. Oh yes, all crude
truths are ridiculous to hide. Mix the fire and sand to ardently burn.
For glass, does so solemnly crack.
And thus, here we are.
Shadows. Darkness. Solitude.
You are henceforth, welcome to any
fence in my perimeter.
Alas,
I seclude myself in exile.
Oh,
How easily you dismiss our love..
