๐ Imagine this. You are sitting on a beach, cold and windswept. The sea is dark and angry before you. The sun sets in muted colors. You finish scrawling on the parchment. Your pen dries up as you reach the end of a story in 11 parts. None of it makes sense anyway. You're sick of having to dilute everything so far beyond recognition. But a story told through metaphor is still a story told. Even the great poet Sappho is survived by stilted fragments and mistranslated lyrics. Maybe that is the beautiful curse people like us must all share. Perhaps loving someone the world doesn't approve of forces you to be clever. You scan your writing once over, brow furrowed. All you can do is hope that it is enough. Of course itโs not. It never could be. You know this. And yet you keep trying, trying, trying. Your image is ten times bigger than you are. You have spent your life living in your own shadow. Stealing your own thunder. Trying and failing, relentlessly, to fill your own shoes. You roll the parchment, slipping it into an empty wine bottle. You may have told the story inside out and backwards, and it may well sink to the bottom of the sea or fall on deaf ears. It may wash up on a sunny beach in Florida, or a rocky shore in the northwest. Either way, someone somewhere will know about that recipe card. And the warm safety you cherish within your fence. And the heist that stole more from you than you ever planned on stealing from the museum. And most importantly, they will know about the human heart. The flawed, scarred, angry, grateful, nonsensical heart. The one that hides deep inside glittering ballgowns. The one that questions everything, but mostly it questions if the world it has grimaced through so many smiles for would love it for what it truly is. You drop the message in a bottle into the riptide. You fight every urge to fish it out before it drifts too far. You watch it until the waves have swept it far, far away. And now it is just a matter of time. The dripping of candle wax. The ticking of a clock. ๐
picture me fingers deep in your ex wife or whatever it was that taylor swift said
๐ Imagine this. Youโre a selfish asshole. So much of your fear is your own. You wince at your cowardice like it is a gaping wound. You so often find yourself unable to meet your own eyes. You scramble into shadows like a black cat. Scared, even, of being scared. This is a moment where things shift. Your ship is docked too far out to sea. Youโd swim to it, but the waters are infested with sharks. Your life raft is long deflated. Your team is cornered on the dock, surrounded by bad guys and bystanders. Each time they step forward, your crew is shuffled back, crashing waves and gnashing jaws behind you. You glare at the enemy protectively, blocking your beloved crew from view. The enemy twists a fluffy dandelion in their fingers, already a few florets taking off in the breeze. You whimper as you watch them go, and with a sneer of amusement the enemy offers you a deal. โIf you jump into the water, we wonโt lay a finger on anyone else. We wonโt even take the rubies.โ You step forward without hesitation, accepting the deal. The enemy just laughs. โNot YOU. Her.โ Your lover steps out in front of you, ready to face the music. Ready to pay for your crimes. She was always the one who was ready. You were the one who was scared. The one who overstayed your welcome in this coastal town. The one who got everyone into this mess. And now the enemy who has chased you โround the seas finally has you cornered. And all they want is one final sacrifice. One final act of courage from the woman who has already displayed more than enough integrity. You kiss her goodbye. And step forward. โTAKE ME INSTEAD.โ You assert. Not an offer. A demand. Lightning crackles in the sky, reflecting your emotions exactly. Your lover grabs your hand, yanking you back. Refusing to let you go. Not even to save herself. Not even to save the precious little gemstones nestled deep in her pocket. Just you. You tug against her grasp, mind made up. You are a selfish asshole, except for maybe just this once. To insure the safety of those you love, you would dive off the dock willingly. Ten times over and over. You would relish in the crunch of your bones between great white teeth. You have always craved destruction. Scrawled devil horns on photos of yourself. This is different. It has to be. The enemy accepts your deal, glee filling their eyes as if this is what they wanted all along. Perhaps it is. You are a coward, but you are not a fool. You make mistakes, but never the same one twice. You are not a hero. You never have been, and you never will be. You're a selfish asshole. But there are some people in this world worth breaking character for. And so in one swift motion, you replace the solid boards beneath your feet with rushing deep blue water. ๐
i don't really see how 'dating' matty healy is any better or safer than just coming out with karlie at this point.
Yes!!
๐ Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye for now. ๐
hi ! no need to post this, just wanted to let you know that i took the time to find all the posts. in case you need them :) take care xx
The ๐ "business" references and brushing off MH as nothing significant, makes me think TS had a deal with MH before kissgate and he is making her make good on it now. I don't know much about him but if he is as awful as everyone is describing, this would be a dickhead move that aligns with his reputation. He is certainly getting a lot of publicity out of this . Maybe this has already been discussed but it's just a thought...
(x)
๐ I cannot share my role in this chess game, but friends have friends of friends. I, for one, love my friends and their friends. I wonder if you know any of them? In magic, there is sleight of hand. Redirection of the eye. None of my messages have been about a rumored new boy toy. He is not the pivot. He is not the brake. He is not the parachute. Behind every public figure, every business transaction that makes up its image, there is a human heart that beats red and hot and furious. Sometimes those emotions donโt line up with what is so easily seen. It takes a lifetime to master the art of biting your tongue until it bleeds, all while feeding the world a blinding smile. That is the story these messages portray. The messy story. The metaphorical story. The true, but oh-so shrouded story. The story of the person behind the curtain. And the person that person loves fiercely. Think of these messages as smoke signals. I may not be around this blog for long, but I have my reasons for painting the pictures I do while I am here. In time, all the pieces fall right into place. A Jack-O-Lantern by any other name is still a Jack-O-Lantern. Speaking of, I love Halloween, donโt you? Iโm already counting the days until October. ๐
Klossy โWhatโs Your Dating Symbol?โ 2017
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