(no subject)
A photograph is beautiful.
This photograph is not particularly nice on the eyes. An awkward figure expresses a panic-stricken sentiment, which surely she will regail to her friends as 'stoked' or 'excited' in months and years to come, as adventure matures into insurance, and aegis fades to age. But right now, without the explanation/fib, it's just panic, and it's nothing new or special. The colors even, are already muted and ever-so subtly mottled, lending to it the credibility of amatuer photography. Nothing fixed, nothing staged, see? I was just wild.
But it is so beautiful. The air maintains tightly the secrets of its interloper, never belying the introduction to come through any of the thousands of kisses the two share every moment. Right now, she is Nike, right now, she is a sticky Icarus, holding fast to the air, which still won't tell the sea.
This and so many others are fabrics hewn of beaty and strife. The question is not how true was it, but how truly may we believ it?
Step to the ledge.
This photograph is not particularly nice on the eyes. An awkward figure expresses a panic-stricken sentiment, which surely she will regail to her friends as 'stoked' or 'excited' in months and years to come, as adventure matures into insurance, and aegis fades to age. But right now, without the explanation/fib, it's just panic, and it's nothing new or special. The colors even, are already muted and ever-so subtly mottled, lending to it the credibility of amatuer photography. Nothing fixed, nothing staged, see? I was just wild.
But it is so beautiful. The air maintains tightly the secrets of its interloper, never belying the introduction to come through any of the thousands of kisses the two share every moment. Right now, she is Nike, right now, she is a sticky Icarus, holding fast to the air, which still won't tell the sea.
This and so many others are fabrics hewn of beaty and strife. The question is not how true was it, but how truly may we believ it?
Step to the ledge.