(no subject)
Details ad infinitum are the fabric of the big pictures. Only fools take them empty: vague and unreal. I once wrote an ode to the fabric of things and it says just about all I really have to say...
...except perhaps that this has all gotten very real recently. Even the bare bones --- the details, the instants, the photographs --- had storybook romance when we took away all of the dirges; all of the parades and concerts. It's not even like that any more. It's here and we're living it. It's everything we talked about, isn't it? Isn't it? But I know my truths from my lies now, as I once promised myself I would someday. I am not a fool. I am not mad.
And the only thing that stands to self-honesty is to hold on so tight that I will sooner be shaken apart than dissevered from this. I renounce nothing --- not the future, not practicality, not normalcy. This is my future, practicality is malleable, and anything else would be twisted and unnatural. My choice. My imperative consequence.
I'm sorry everyone gets hurt.
...except perhaps that this has all gotten very real recently. Even the bare bones --- the details, the instants, the photographs --- had storybook romance when we took away all of the dirges; all of the parades and concerts. It's not even like that any more. It's here and we're living it. It's everything we talked about, isn't it? Isn't it? But I know my truths from my lies now, as I once promised myself I would someday. I am not a fool. I am not mad.
And the only thing that stands to self-honesty is to hold on so tight that I will sooner be shaken apart than dissevered from this. I renounce nothing --- not the future, not practicality, not normalcy. This is my future, practicality is malleable, and anything else would be twisted and unnatural. My choice. My imperative consequence.
I'm sorry everyone gets hurt.