the little things that matter
The little things that matter.
Naivety that surrounds. Little things that make you think your life is beautiful and the little things that can break your heart into a million pieces.
Love. The little thing making life miserable, tiresome but also beautiful in a painful parasitic way. Magic. That surrounds.
Music. That plays.
Everything. The touch of the skin, the flesh and the bones, the consonance of the minds, the words spoken, unheard and understood, the sounds piercing and slithering. It’s a grand delusion, a grand narrative of a grander narrative.
The touch of a lover, the kiss of the those lips, the caress of those hands and the strength in those arms, the skin meeting skin, the running in each other feeling.. everything. What is it if nothing but a mass delusion. Seeing things that don’t exit, feeling things that never existed and standing up for things that are really worthless. The tingling feeling in your back, in your hands, the throbbing your blood vessels, the death of your legs and the vegetative state of one’s brain, the constant and a majestic desire to overcome.
Overcome what stops. Overcome what lacks. Overcome what doesn't matter. Overcome what matters. Overcome that one must. The darkness in yourself, filled with much more darkness… the cynicism, the tears, the heart break. Everything, but hopeless. The heart break, the thinking ‘it’s over’. When it isn't and it sometimes it wouldn't. putting your heart off your sleeve, caging it in a jam bottle and then being unable to open it because you’re a woman.
Emotions that are suppressed and understood to be dead. Emotions that maybe don’t really exist. The feeling of that caress, of holding a hand, kissing it and wanting to be with it forever. the headache that remains, the throbbing that doesn't go for a long time after the love has been expressed and consumed. The love that consumes, love that burns, love that is passionate, love that maybe isn't what it is, love what is it after all. Love why does it even matter, love, that you want, love that he wants. Love that he doesn't understand and the love you understand, love that he feels, and love that you don’t feel. Drug. It’s a drug. But not like LSD, it’s the one that cures an illness without making you more ill, but makes you dependent nonetheless. Love. Is it you?
Naivety that surrounds. Little things that make you think your life is beautiful and the little things that can break your heart into a million pieces.
Love. The little thing making life miserable, tiresome but also beautiful in a painful parasitic way. Magic. That surrounds.
Music. That plays.
Everything. The touch of the skin, the flesh and the bones, the consonance of the minds, the words spoken, unheard and understood, the sounds piercing and slithering. It’s a grand delusion, a grand narrative of a grander narrative.
The touch of a lover, the kiss of the those lips, the caress of those hands and the strength in those arms, the skin meeting skin, the running in each other feeling.. everything. What is it if nothing but a mass delusion. Seeing things that don’t exit, feeling things that never existed and standing up for things that are really worthless. The tingling feeling in your back, in your hands, the throbbing your blood vessels, the death of your legs and the vegetative state of one’s brain, the constant and a majestic desire to overcome.
Overcome what stops. Overcome what lacks. Overcome what doesn't matter. Overcome what matters. Overcome that one must. The darkness in yourself, filled with much more darkness… the cynicism, the tears, the heart break. Everything, but hopeless. The heart break, the thinking ‘it’s over’. When it isn't and it sometimes it wouldn't. putting your heart off your sleeve, caging it in a jam bottle and then being unable to open it because you’re a woman.
Emotions that are suppressed and understood to be dead. Emotions that maybe don’t really exist. The feeling of that caress, of holding a hand, kissing it and wanting to be with it forever. the headache that remains, the throbbing that doesn't go for a long time after the love has been expressed and consumed. The love that consumes, love that burns, love that is passionate, love that maybe isn't what it is, love what is it after all. Love why does it even matter, love, that you want, love that he wants. Love that he doesn't understand and the love you understand, love that he feels, and love that you don’t feel. Drug. It’s a drug. But not like LSD, it’s the one that cures an illness without making you more ill, but makes you dependent nonetheless. Love. Is it you?
‘Love me tender, love me true’ Or maybe still, don’t love me
at all. Or perhaps, love me like never before. Look back, and look, love me
again. Love me once, love me for all. Love me now love me forever. Love me in
light, love me in dark, hold my hand, walk with me, maybe don’t love me at all.
Listen to this song and kiss me, maybe love me now. Another day another year,
but forever. This day and the days to come, this year and the years to come.
All the time, maybe never.
posted by AA at 1:58 AM
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