Life
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It has been all she’s chosen. With words, she find assurance. Even if a promise cannot be kept, she’ll return to the shell. She’ll return to where what had been audible was first a whisper. She’ll seek comfort in that. Wide-eyed, curious of mind, and with an appetite to want something that never moves, she’s
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A shadow has been extending from a motionless figure. How long has it been going for? How long has she been seated there, counting leaves that descend due to meeting their time? In the corporeal world, it has been a mere minute. But in her mind, her presence in this position, this stagnation, has been
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Some might hear or read the word “useless” as inherently having a negative connotation. Instead, one ought to refer to its meaning as having more of a neutral tone. There isn’t anything positive nor negative about what’s useless or even useful, especially in regards to where these words are often applied. If there is one
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To him, all that has manifested in this aftermath might be said to be all he expected. All that destruction of a form, all because he took a different direction. Had he lied to himself at that second? All he wanted was relief. A different place to put his sanity. To whatever was left of
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Grief clings. Or is there something that we are clinging to, to keep grief alive? Perhaps it is something else other than even that. It might not be that we keep grief alive, while denial is what we first express upon hearing that we who loved has died. It might be that we keep hope
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If we are honest to another whom we have come to know, we will speak what’s needed to be said. Needed, not wanted, because lies might have been all they have heard. Lies are always aligned with repetition because they will not ever present quality to a life. A life receives quality through its growth
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“We might tell ourselves that to do what must be done, for another, is a testament to our love for them. In that, we are compensating. For what? For potential loss, of ourselves, of our identity. We hurl ourselves into another to encompass them as we often embrace them, buried under entwined thoughts. In all
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I declare, upon a point I found hindering to decide, that there cannot be a reason to love. No distinguishable, practical reason. There cannot be a useful reason for it in its wide arrangement of symptoms, all discussed of love, as all remain being reminders of what cannot be explained. What would be said? Only
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“Humans grow like muscles. But during the crisis, we are revealing how much we can lift on our shoulders, can handle in the heat of tension.” Modern Romanticism There has been that saying, “Crisis doesn’t build character. It reveals it.” It is true, I believe, that in our handling of crisis, of conflict, of pain,
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Extinguished stars. I am callingfor other gateways. I am remindingmyself, that when I fall,I am merely departing from wheremy life had always stalled.When fears are lit, to becomeblack ashes, I am walkingto find Heaven, leaving a burned trailof vacancy and stardust. I enter another path, holding handswith wide-open curtains.In letting loose the purposeof running fields
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“Between the black or the white, there is nothing but everything brought forward from a certain past into an uncertain future.” Modern Romanticism What a machine knows is to compute A or B from a scenario, or from a file where something can be accessed in its objective light. What it cannot do is comprehend
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“If ‘anyone’ might tell you the truth, offer you blatant evidence of whatever making, design, or origin, you are admitting that just ‘anyone’ can be trusted. Truth should be offered from those whom you trust are not there to taint its presence with deceit.” – Modern Romanticism “Anything goes” will not be at all relevant
Modern Romanticism 