The devastation of it; tears never rise enough. A strong gaze; olden souls. So much taking. I drift through behaviors; I shift into a seaquake. Too damaged at points. Too optimistic against solace. So many genuine startups; to have adored like sinning; relieved to receive; as it lives, one trillion prayers, or forsook and chased. Eager contradiction; in seeing one will exist further, probing gut-phones, phantom identity. In learning to release passions, in swimming in skies, so low when it first hit. Seeking reasons to reclaim happiness, raptured by depressions. Those reaching waves, what by reflection? At points, two sad souls make beauty; at some degree, they must cherish that. If not, others will see radiance, to seduce pegs, unveiling vulnerability. Such reason to perish again. I ever to believe in some part of earth. Such rabid chi, flickering, fluctuating, taking what’s needed until chimes ring. The curse; to watch while forbidden from participating—as a first cause. It never mattered, they say. To be of assistance, they say. Bullshit! I hit the gas, smoke free, retrospection upon gestures, infuriated resistance became segue. Most radical condition—fretting present ghosts—addicted to good times. Such double troubles, over a billion in repentance, close to a miracle in midst of dying.
