So hard to be simple. So complex. Feet upon an ottoman.
Loving you was irrational, simply perfect, carrying me over soundness. Discerning
oceans, debating waves, certain fragile frequency. It didn’t work. It wasn’t
meant. Loving you was a mistake. Those feelings once captured. Those emotions
once rocking gently. Into a mental television, wandering and wondering, what
breeds its opposite? So hard to be simple. Knowing secrets. Love is nourishment.
Silent pretentions. Ostentatious swearing, baffling, cursing, so glorious a
night. Numen insistence. Loving you awakened error, gave light to ignorance,
made right myriad wrongs: pure humiliation. When one is bad by necessity, it
hurts the world. Like a sky flower, soil upon stars, aesthetic beauty despite
travesty. By trail of insights, so hard to be simple, one day it will be right.
