My love.

I read, reread and pondered. I lament on the death of chivalry and romance. Thank you for allowing me to witness the tenacity of your justice against that heavy leaden man. I was dazzled by you--truly. I was lost in my gaze as you confronted his porch & paunch framer; I imagine him a burping belching man, with no love of language, no love of life and no relationship with the oxygen in the air that he breathes. You dealt with the gravity of this man's low level of domesticity and still now you truck on. Whatever you do, you make more spectacular. Doesn't matter how quotidian or mundane the thought is to stand up to the prejudices many others ignore--you're up for it--and I love that. You're the footprint that glimmers wherever you go yoojunga.

Beginning

I'm beginning to be a little more accepting of people's undeniable tendency to protest. It just pisses me off when people protest just for the hell of it; they've a tendency to act obliviously without any regard for their own beliefs. I hate that about people. But I am willing to observe it as an implementation, a tool within a social sphere which triggers courageous revolution and presents itself as righteous; and that's fine I guess, I can appreciate a bit of fucking righteousness from time to time. And people are actually protesting me--protesthype. And I flirt with the criticisms because people are incapable of growing up without suffering the actions of human cruelty. The fire in my core is destructive, it burns hottest with the worst consequences I am able to imagine; it seeks to extinguish all it knows in order to achieve its own unshaking sovereignty from limited understanding.


I was recently in a relationship with someone. Someone peculiar. Peculiarly pleasant. I liked her a lot and I'd give up the world for her. In the beginning I did everything. Everything. And she was big on the special treatment. I couldn't be interested in other women because I was enjoying her satisfaction too much. Now that I think about it, we were great together as boyfriend and girlfriend. An enviably unique pair. Or at least, that was the aura of verisimilitude you'd evaluate looking from the outside. I was her opposite, but we complimented each other. She wanted me to be nice to her, love her, make her laugh and fulfill her heart with the dutiful inundation of joy and subserviency. I'll admit I didn't have the knack for it, but I went along with it thinking I'd pick it up. I was pleasant for awhile, I'll pat myself on the back. But then things changed, she resented me for my mistakes, she saw me slip into the abysmal chasm of offenses. She saw me leave her, disheartened with my inability to fulfill her little simple requests; I slipped into the foray of my dark nature and into my own doom. I was depressed. By surviving the worst that life can bring, I thought I'd eventually the struggle of fear from what life can bring. I cheated on her. I did it to sleep in the fire and to be burned, I did it because I wanted to feel as depressed as my heart felt for losing her so easily.


But I delved too deep into the repositorium this time. I've scarred myself as I charred her beyond recognition.I'm more inclined to compromise when presented with the transparency of actualization because it serves me with concrete evidence of emotion. For now I am living for her, being what she says is right; I'll always be a hopeful cynic in the plights of curiosity--even when it's without any socially accepted rationale, but for now--I owe her. There's just so much I want to discover within her. I am doing what I can do to make up for my actions and I feel at peace because she is still here. Waiting for me to be who she sees in me. I want to take nothing for granted and hear the meanings behind the words she so sweetly cries to me.