"I'd rather drink hot choc and read"

I look in the mirror and I see an effusion, something fluorescent that juts out. Yet I see no perfect resolution, no similarity and no wide eyed surprise. Only the soothe in the black of my hair, then I spot something outlandish and peculiar. Something out of relativity, something that once was mine but not anymore. Then in seconds I remember vaguely of fondness and touch, something warm and exciting; spills onto a canvas deliciously like paint soaking through, in swift motion I remember that I remember you.


i sometimes forget that

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)


&

ee cummings is such an inspiration;


without any reason being, that I am unaware of this induced coma, this subdued silence. In a canopy of grief, shrouded with minimalist exposures, they are brief and elliptical, almost fragile and fit into the palm of my hand.

I’m fine, really that’s what I reason with myself and there is nothing personal about it. A pile of cluttered disposition, disarray of lights, excuses replaced in favour of an incognito ipseity and there is no affection in it. Just the echoes of silences that will fall short before me and you, but this is proof that I am barely there.

Today we drew caricatures of ourselves, and I am in pale comparison, almost invisible. Meek and disillusioned, hunched against the giant shadows casted by favourable aesthetic beauties, I shrink almost immediately. And then I am angry, thunderous voices I throw like rocks impounded onto myself, that I will never be half as far as everyone else has gone to.

And then when morning dawns, I wake up to find myself by accident again. Oh here you are

-

Nonetheless, today was a good enough day ;)

Bon nuit!