I have adored what
I cannot possess as one hurting himself. I have thought of beauty, mainly in
others, terrified I have lost reality: some core creature, some caveat monster,
while I muse upon nobility. the problem is harsh, the understanding is harsher,
It will never be as a person insists!
while reality
becomes ideal, idyllic, impure, one may see a conundrum, a sphinx, much
disappointment. it happens in people: I see goodness, I long to have it near,
it has its own life. is it persuaded? does it vacillate? it appears to know
what love is!
I have no
qualifications, outside of self-reflection, needing something unhuman—some essence,
substance, familiar in our history; a walking inconsistency, whereat, a deeper
casualty, or too consistent to garden true reality.
here I run a risk,
nevertheless, I must ask: if gentle friendship, with a weakness, does one turn
away? this is a deeper question, it demands altruism, it shuns pride, ego: if
we mesh, if love is radiant, do I veto you for your errors? of course, violence
is wrong, mind control is ruthless, but gentility is hard to manufacture.
I’ll leave that to
others, as not trying to convince, but if it happens often, in different
situations, with different people, one must adjust, or cleave to the ideal.
many beautiful
souls, lost in art, losing self—in humans, in powers, in decency one creates; with
film inside, cameras inside, moments documented, outlined, as they live in us.
