Winter Solstice
Her sweet Avon perfume rounded the smell of my skin to perfection, but she liked my Hypnotic Poison better, and mentioned every now and then she’ll try to get it cheaper through a scam. I guess we were ready to mistake perfumes for thoughts, and drown into armours of deception. Now it matters no more who had the purest of thoughts, the most impeccable tango steps. This winter solstice was the last to hear our thoughts twist each others’ hands, as they took over and whitened our ears to deafness.
It still bothers me that people who cannot understand each other the least as it turns out, can complement mind and spirit to build up and high the most amazing network of arches and bolts. The puzzled face I had every time she confessed intensely: got no clue, but it feels like...
I was thinking through the clearness of her mind while she was feeling through the murkiness of my heavy soul. Every time we joined, mind and spirit were laughing at each other’s perfection and cried for more.
Last December kept me wondering who are those whom I call my friends in the darkest of hours? Is it those who understand me, or those who complement me to perfection? When the day stands shortest, in the dimmest of lights, I feel that for the doom inside of me I need my friends to understand me without complementing the circle of my thoughts. This perfect circle that I am running away from comes around in completion of my disaster. As long as I am made of unfinished negation I feel safe, I feel black. With an eternity of hope ahead of me, I can give and be given forever.
The shortest day of the year was chosen by fate to show me that even the sharpest of us filter mind through soul when possessed. It stands bitter and straight to remind me of the readiness with which we shun off the infinity of shapes other people’s thoughts may take. The winter solstice is the birth of a friendship that could have been but died in the shortness of breath, in the dimness of lights, in an arrhythmic hybrid's tango breakdown. The winter solstice failed to phase in the restless hour of my thoughts with her tired soul.
It still bothers me that people who cannot understand each other the least as it turns out, can complement mind and spirit to build up and high the most amazing network of arches and bolts. The puzzled face I had every time she confessed intensely: got no clue, but it feels like...
I was thinking through the clearness of her mind while she was feeling through the murkiness of my heavy soul. Every time we joined, mind and spirit were laughing at each other’s perfection and cried for more.
Last December kept me wondering who are those whom I call my friends in the darkest of hours? Is it those who understand me, or those who complement me to perfection? When the day stands shortest, in the dimmest of lights, I feel that for the doom inside of me I need my friends to understand me without complementing the circle of my thoughts. This perfect circle that I am running away from comes around in completion of my disaster. As long as I am made of unfinished negation I feel safe, I feel black. With an eternity of hope ahead of me, I can give and be given forever.
The shortest day of the year was chosen by fate to show me that even the sharpest of us filter mind through soul when possessed. It stands bitter and straight to remind me of the readiness with which we shun off the infinity of shapes other people’s thoughts may take. The winter solstice is the birth of a friendship that could have been but died in the shortness of breath, in the dimness of lights, in an arrhythmic hybrid's tango breakdown. The winter solstice failed to phase in the restless hour of my thoughts with her tired soul.
acherentia - 17. Jul, 23:31
