—some mysteries, as in people one desires to meet, to interact with, if the interaction is measured. A soul will love by mystery, adore certain feelings, until, the measurement becomes imbalanced.
One will undergo inner aggravation.
One will try to mitigate intensity by seeking out the beloved. If unrequited, one is left to fight for clarity. We speak of normalcy.
One bounces back with remoras cleaving to one’s consciousness. This is fair in its occurrence; it’s unusual and one must adjust. While adjusting, one has entered a realm. One becomes susceptible to frequencies: to wrestle nothing free, to adjust more—as this becomes part of life.
I see someone in the audience watching as it unfolds, aware of forces. —it shall dawn upon the writer what has remained hidden.
I realize it may feel like essence, one loves more than the other, self-reflection and all—to be with a soul throughout one’s journey—more adjusting. —in demanding pure freedom to cherish life while void of indifference, soul of my problem, spirit of my angst.
In ridding parts of self and divested of majesty thus destroying understanding, one last sunrise—as if life began there. —so easy to see it. Progress takes years of struggle. And life was accepted on that end: deep-burgundy infatuation, submission infatuation, despite the grays.
I was quite unprepared, they say.
One will stir a cauldron, reaching for baguettes, silenced upon the great blue seas. To have been with ambition the flame inside facing quenching.
—aside a soul sat irony; aside a soul lived sadness; one can only shadow the aching, refusing to fail, failing to eradicate malaise, forced to witness a level of dying. It destroys perception, it strengthens bonds, it hurts to lack a panacea.
