Morality is the ability to puncture in and break away without breaking anything fragile.
We will be the strongest of people possible. We will go farther than the farthest of places and learn to love better than the softest of lovers. We will be change; like the leaves that stumble down in fall but bloom in spring. We will be the indifference that they need. We will be the near of shortcoming ( with respect to the signs, and everything we shouldn’t do).
We will be here. And we will fix EVERYTHING.
You honk every time you drive by.
I melt behind closed curtains.
You pace with your sleeves rolled up.
I sit still gripping onto bars.
You turn and leave behind, looking from one way to another.
I look up from the skylight and pull my hair back.
You stop, stand under the shade of a tree, and give yourself time to adjust.
I let go of the flowing curtains, turn around, and do the same.
This is our transformation. The series of it.
Where each smile is a measurment of intensity, and each connection an acceptance.
Where each path consists of irrelevant logic; and each direction falling between the failing of those paths.
This is acceptance. And you; you are ignorant.
And now I have you unaccompanied. Here. The way it has never been.
Winds don’t call your name anymore. They just leave me with bare hands and rusted rings.
But today, I have you here. Alone. And I don’t know whether to pull you off and stack all that you helped me love, away; or preserve you here, close to all that you symbolize.
It’s rigid. And stiff.
I will always be drifting. Decisions like that you can never make.
“All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.” – Oscar Wilde