Stars
Have you ever felt like crying while gazing at an object of sheer beauty? Whenever I try to imagine my future, I feel that way. As if my heart would burst of the longing that my hands and arms are too limp and weak to fulfill. Still I dream and yearn for so many things... so many steps I want to make, so many roads I wish to follow, explore places more remote, darker, where the stars rise in their numbers and shine strong.
Is that a sadness? It can't be, for once I was told that to live is to aspire, and whole heartedly did I agree.
I know every emotion related to the starlust, each arrest spawned by fear, every wavering of passion, the despairing for a muse, and the musing for solitude... the struggle of forming your expression, the tentativeness of exposing it to the world.
So fragile is the light, and so infuriatingly unintelligible and distant.
Is that a sadness? It can't be, for once I was told that to live is to aspire, and whole heartedly did I agree.
I know every emotion related to the starlust, each arrest spawned by fear, every wavering of passion, the despairing for a muse, and the musing for solitude... the struggle of forming your expression, the tentativeness of exposing it to the world.
So fragile is the light, and so infuriatingly unintelligible and distant.