We pay for experience, listening to wisdom, made wiser upon a challenge. Aside myself, intense memories, and Love spoke; so far away, to happen upon nearness, to feel in sequence. I can’t imagine what time is, we call it by increments, to supersede space, eloquence, & arts. I spent days in a glance, awakened but resting, seeing better parts of tomorrow: those deer lakes, deeper intuition, to imagine something free, aligned, immortal—those eyes, to have certain thoughts, to realize, if smitten, nothing matters.
Alas, it takes from itself, bleeding identity, warring its very nature. Those years ache, they weep, and no one quite fathoms dependence. I can’t preach it, as if life wasn’t motion, as if there wasn’t goodness—of dearer dreams, creative crafts, angelic airs; too sense as it awakens, to feel like essence, reminiscing upon adamant lines—fraught by pressures, ashamed of imperfection. I noticed death in excellence, no grander insecurity, stressed to make things better.
Wellness of soul, a wish into a scar, a life with mysteries. To walk further, tugging by lightning, reading thunder: avoided, etched, life seems so short.
