And Speaking The Ancient Tongue Is Like Reaching Out And Having A Chat With History Itself, Shadows And

i bite back a smile when you point out that the eye looks weird. i like your shading you say, but the colors could've been darker. a fish in water for the first time, i breathe in the relief. i'm so sick of it, i wish i could tell you, i'm so sick of the mindless hearts and soulless compliments. you're so brilliants echo and bounce around this shell of a frame that was once gifted. there's nothing left yet the red shiny wrapper's still on. not for you maybe, is it too soon to know? call me out, call me out, tell me when i'm being an asshole and i'd smile harder honestly. you offer a repose to this empty gallery.

And just like infinity, we can't get to the ending, happy or sad. We can't skip to the - how does this end? We've gotta start at the beginning, working our way through everything, walking up to the next room everytime something shifted. And maybe, maybe if we're lucky our love will be eternal. Throughout the parallel universes, throughout our mortal lifetimes. A flip of a coin, fingers brushed together by an accidental paint stroke, a step to the next room.

"i never see you getting angry, when i was your age i used to be so, so angry"

perhaps we're more similar then i think mother, i don't think I've stopped screaming internally since the 7th grade, the amount of violence it took to convert my tears into deep-rooted anger, but i listen to your sad past anyways, unflinchingly, all my anger directed towards my grandmother, and her grandmother, and hers, a long line of cruel women, who in turn built crueler versions of themselves. i can't tell you about how each time i look into a mirror, i see not myself, but all the crueler and harder versions of me, and i see you, the woman i swore not to be when i was little.

i cursed you for sacrificing so much, but I'm older now mama, now i feel the same rage as you do and i curse at how you are all i could be in the future, with the same screaming daughter inside.

Hope’s a terrific tragedy, oh she’s brilliant but what a lazy bee. She's got bloodied knees and dirt on her white lace, she strums her guitar with a common finesse, her bare feet have known many lies, her hands remain scuffed from weaving said lies. Such pretty and poised lips, such a tragedy they only speak your repetitive prophecy, as she sings you to your sweet imminent death, comfortably. Lay your head on her lap won’t you? Her knuckles might gain the color they lost a lifetime ago. you'll find her in bar fights, in the shimmering glitter of casinos. she kisses you before the most important day of your life, so steady, so warm and now as you lie awake, roughly carving out the edges of a hurried plan B, think darling, wasn't it just a casual fling?

so twirl me in the rain, and we'll ignore the words of warning the splattered raindrops spell out on the pavement, tie my hair with pink apologies and I'll refuse to believe the infinity of falling and distance the bows shape, maybe the roads we walked overtime really trace out a big, white X, drawing closer and closer together until the discoveries tear us apart. Do you think the stars we stare at are just a scene cut in our little cube, or maybe the writer meant to warn us of the internal collapse, the bright nebula before the fade? is the tragedy in knowing you my love, will fall or is it in knowing I allowed you to get too close? how trivial it is to be bound by the distance we cannot see, but maybe it's just as foolish of me to put such faith in these forming irregularities.

Silvery sands we walked over,

Footprints smitten but never forgotten,

Quite deftly destroying the perfect arches.

And how long shall we climb the ridges for?

When the light warms the time held in our fingers,

Running through steadily, yet fast,

Shuffling of only the crushed thorns,

Our bare feet sink into the

dissolved, ghostly essence of the past,

And we sit with the light, reminiscing the fall.

turns out mixing narcissism with deep rooted insecurity was a spell for disaster.

infinity is such a difficult concept to comprehend because humans aren't used to the idea of forever. everyday, something ends in our lives. we can't imagine anything not-ending that is real. our lives are defined by endings. anything related to us will aways end. we will die, another ending. infinity challenges the whole notion of the cycle of everything as we know it.

and I was out in sea, the waves alive and crashing around, the distinct buzz of noise from the shore, vaguely human to my ears. miles under my floating feet, the unmistakable beating of aquatic heartbeats. and yet, surrounded by so much life how can a soul feel so empty and dead inside? all mine wants to do is float in the distinct emptiness of my still-beating heart.

Pluto spun around the sun, until its light was too blinding, even for its love struck eyes to take. So it withdrew its orbit, pulling back as if leaving makes the river run softer, like leaving wouldn't marr the existence of anything else in its stead. Bask in the afterglow with me and tell me love, do the golden rays seem harsher from my window?