A Fairy Tale
Aren't these cold, cold nights,
where one can see his breath
after speaking, floating and steaming?
If he looks into the sky
he sees more clearly
because everything seems so lucid.
Please take this random male as a person. Pretend that he is your friend, relatively distant relative, or at least a character in a series of novels to which you, at one point, found yourself attached. He often sits outside, simply because the general sensation of confinement seemed to stalk him and never leave him be. Always confined. He smoked too many cigarettes and when he tried to breathe his lungs felt tight and restrictive. He involved himself in relationships by overextending himself in commitment-like ways and they also felt tight and constrictive. Even in platonic relationships this was case. Always responsible for something or someone; a constant deadline to get something done. Suffocation and slowly constrincting disease let him know that if he were to continue living this way he may very well die young. But alas, there exists too many tragic stories, and way too many modern understated "simply this" tragedies (that do not sound like tragedies style-wise, but definitely are content-wise).
One evening he searched desperately for a release to this uncomfortable state of being and found it. Not in a person. He found it by forgetting. Many may call this neglegence, but he called sympathy (which sound much like the word "symphony" he vaugely smiles at the irrelevancy of this concept). He thinks that beauty abounds if one bothers noticing, but the commonplace is exponentially more present. What to do about said delema? Nothing of course. What is there to do about the state of things on a macrocosmic scale other than to do forget?
His friends all had many answers of their own: some were fleeting, some were "intelligent", some were clever, and some were simply old advice passed down from one person to the next for generations. He found none of it sufficient or satisfying. These answers were much like a simple joke format or the predictable "first comes, then next comes, then finally comes" structure to a fairy tale. And he viewed all answers as such (essentially; of course he did acknowledge that perhaps such answer were somewhat relevant or useful to people unlike himself). This left him at a severe, distinct, and poignant loss. The Brothers Grimm would have laughed and then eventually wept, for there is no tragic or even very final end to such a story as this.
where one can see his breath
after speaking, floating and steaming?
If he looks into the sky
he sees more clearly
because everything seems so lucid.
Please take this random male as a person. Pretend that he is your friend, relatively distant relative, or at least a character in a series of novels to which you, at one point, found yourself attached. He often sits outside, simply because the general sensation of confinement seemed to stalk him and never leave him be. Always confined. He smoked too many cigarettes and when he tried to breathe his lungs felt tight and restrictive. He involved himself in relationships by overextending himself in commitment-like ways and they also felt tight and constrictive. Even in platonic relationships this was case. Always responsible for something or someone; a constant deadline to get something done. Suffocation and slowly constrincting disease let him know that if he were to continue living this way he may very well die young. But alas, there exists too many tragic stories, and way too many modern understated "simply this" tragedies (that do not sound like tragedies style-wise, but definitely are content-wise).
One evening he searched desperately for a release to this uncomfortable state of being and found it. Not in a person. He found it by forgetting. Many may call this neglegence, but he called sympathy (which sound much like the word "symphony" he vaugely smiles at the irrelevancy of this concept). He thinks that beauty abounds if one bothers noticing, but the commonplace is exponentially more present. What to do about said delema? Nothing of course. What is there to do about the state of things on a macrocosmic scale other than to do forget?
His friends all had many answers of their own: some were fleeting, some were "intelligent", some were clever, and some were simply old advice passed down from one person to the next for generations. He found none of it sufficient or satisfying. These answers were much like a simple joke format or the predictable "first comes, then next comes, then finally comes" structure to a fairy tale. And he viewed all answers as such (essentially; of course he did acknowledge that perhaps such answer were somewhat relevant or useful to people unlike himself). This left him at a severe, distinct, and poignant loss. The Brothers Grimm would have laughed and then eventually wept, for there is no tragic or even very final end to such a story as this.