Its cold. It always is to me. The flooding warmth has been lost, a very long time ago. If I would have been blogging two years ago, I guess my words would not have been so grin and sullen. Life as it seems, could always be so different. And I could be so oblivious to its many petty changes. This desolate place, barren and dour, is choking me. I falter before I could step back, for I could not be so impetous again. Mistakes to me are insubstantial revelations. And to come out from them, needed adequate courage. I admit that I could not be ardent about that other side of things that somehow made life still bearable to me. The world could still be vague, but the frivolous malevolence could still be seen. A blue sky to shade the grew ones was deplorable, but how long would that last. How long could I last against this torment, that I have so foolishly created myself. Frail that I am, against my own will, as I try to impel myself to forget. Forget. The word could always be so easily said. Incredulous of course, if one was to be able to so easily complete that task. Detestful, I am against myself... For the falling that I should have so easily restraint from. Forbearance towards these delusions and the other dreams that I have created. I walk away into this raining night, trying to leave everything out of sight. I guess this commendation was just another breath taken in.
No comments:
Post a Comment