Existential Romance.
i'm scared that sacred is a word i'm very skeptical to use, but i get the idea.
"Love" is possibly the highest concept we creatures prescribing to the notion of free will can claim we "feel."
The undefinable essence is the greatest feeling of wholeness we could claim. It shoots dopamine through your body and lulls your mind into ease.
It brings close something so fundamental and central and moving that it's maimed with average people's corroded and complacent appeal to the subject.
It is not one unto itself, it's a weird sort of subjective objective that is exclusive by nature.
i keep creeping toward forgetting that feeling.
And then he's there, the air heavy with his aroma like a rainy summer sunset.
Every breath is salvation lit with the richness of even a suggestion of shared existence. All other characters become a breeze against the gust that whips me, helpless, from my set direction. The whirlwind is not unlike a premature passage to peace for a weary prophet.
He is actual, not imagined and he is reacting keeping me brimming with intensity and intrigue.
i know i love this man because i stand for everything he has taken strides for, whether failed or successful. Even his flaws liberate my love for him.
There is no superior: in his actuality i find my complimentary condemnation, my sanity and my grasp on humanity in the mirrored the reflection of my feeble grasps for control.
i lose myself in a two-fold sense of belonging and longing. God, civilization, centuries conceived to cue progress all conceptualize in the gentle eyes of this gentleman. In the moment he is the face of god and i am all i'll ever try to be.
Familiarity and novelty. A familiarity that not stale because it is shared and the novel rarity of mutually invested sharing overrides the frustration of its limitations.
It is beyond attachment, it is sense and beauty and bliss.
And beyond my little, muddy middle-class brain i can see nothing better to live or die for. The lacquered application of a concept.
Freedom is forgiveness for not being able to fix it all and being able to dream in the scheme of things.
You swallow my soul and spit it back to me with salve. i love you. Your love is light in a dark world, a mousehole in the fucked-up maze that is my mind and warmth in a vacuum of confusion.
Your eyes may not always gaze at me enraptured in flight or maybe full of scorn when i'm floundering and i'm fine with it because you have found the foundation of love and the feeling has found itself in the both of us. i am not afraid of anything around you, only my personalizing of your anger or your annoyance. i know you care. i know we're careful and careless at the same time. i know that i can't imagine caring for anything more by your own virtue.
i could easily conceive making love real to you the rationale behind bearing the burden of reality. Intensity takes an inoculating grasp on my mind. i want to protect you from even my own perspective and my passion.
For my few true friends, you are the same. Drops of sanity in a sick, rusty system. You are my magic and my mission and i love you.
And to my "boring boy", i don't like treading fragile ground, but if you ever want to have a conversation based in honesty i will explain.
i don't like making you miserable, but giving false impressions of amusement is not going to do anything for you. You have a long way to grow, like me, and i am not going to be the one to nurse you back to neurosis as you do the same for me on occasion.
"Love" is possibly the highest concept we creatures prescribing to the notion of free will can claim we "feel."
The undefinable essence is the greatest feeling of wholeness we could claim. It shoots dopamine through your body and lulls your mind into ease.
It brings close something so fundamental and central and moving that it's maimed with average people's corroded and complacent appeal to the subject.
It is not one unto itself, it's a weird sort of subjective objective that is exclusive by nature.
i keep creeping toward forgetting that feeling.
And then he's there, the air heavy with his aroma like a rainy summer sunset.
Every breath is salvation lit with the richness of even a suggestion of shared existence. All other characters become a breeze against the gust that whips me, helpless, from my set direction. The whirlwind is not unlike a premature passage to peace for a weary prophet.
He is actual, not imagined and he is reacting keeping me brimming with intensity and intrigue.
i know i love this man because i stand for everything he has taken strides for, whether failed or successful. Even his flaws liberate my love for him.
There is no superior: in his actuality i find my complimentary condemnation, my sanity and my grasp on humanity in the mirrored the reflection of my feeble grasps for control.
i lose myself in a two-fold sense of belonging and longing. God, civilization, centuries conceived to cue progress all conceptualize in the gentle eyes of this gentleman. In the moment he is the face of god and i am all i'll ever try to be.
Familiarity and novelty. A familiarity that not stale because it is shared and the novel rarity of mutually invested sharing overrides the frustration of its limitations.
It is beyond attachment, it is sense and beauty and bliss.
And beyond my little, muddy middle-class brain i can see nothing better to live or die for. The lacquered application of a concept.
Freedom is forgiveness for not being able to fix it all and being able to dream in the scheme of things.
You swallow my soul and spit it back to me with salve. i love you. Your love is light in a dark world, a mousehole in the fucked-up maze that is my mind and warmth in a vacuum of confusion.
Your eyes may not always gaze at me enraptured in flight or maybe full of scorn when i'm floundering and i'm fine with it because you have found the foundation of love and the feeling has found itself in the both of us. i am not afraid of anything around you, only my personalizing of your anger or your annoyance. i know you care. i know we're careful and careless at the same time. i know that i can't imagine caring for anything more by your own virtue.
i could easily conceive making love real to you the rationale behind bearing the burden of reality. Intensity takes an inoculating grasp on my mind. i want to protect you from even my own perspective and my passion.
For my few true friends, you are the same. Drops of sanity in a sick, rusty system. You are my magic and my mission and i love you.
And to my "boring boy", i don't like treading fragile ground, but if you ever want to have a conversation based in honesty i will explain.
i don't like making you miserable, but giving false impressions of amusement is not going to do anything for you. You have a long way to grow, like me, and i am not going to be the one to nurse you back to neurosis as you do the same for me on occasion.