(no subject)
Sometimes I feel like others have grown up and I've stayed the same, and sometimes it's the other way around. I can't decide if I prefer the world of lordly demeanors and apathy towards all those passions that used to mean so much or the juvenile delights of a few blades of grass. I emersed myself in Life today for the first time in ages, and every nerve in my body tingled with painful satisfaction. Even with summer's end so near, green overwhelmed the shades of civilization. The branches hid me from the worries called Future and Love and End. I felt wretched for neglecting my pretty little soul; Mr. John Savage, thankfully, set it all straight. Of course, he's busy being a compass these days. I'm quite exhausted with reality, and it was hardly a month's immersion. I've returned to fantasy, to Woody Allen characters, to desperate and lovely affection. I'm a little too eager to please, and my claws dig much too tightly into pink and shining skin, but I'm so much happier when I can let myself be pierced by simple melodies or purchased for a few clouds. I'd rather love too deeply and drown than grow wrinkled between the letters of my pendantry.