If conclusiveness is the be all and end all of my acceptance, then I conclude nothing, thus accepting only that I am yet to be anything other than unfathomably haunted by the apparition of prior glorious acts.
I often sit for a moment or many and muse upon the only thought I wish to be answered genuinely; Do my consistent thoughts of you appear to be mutual, or are my most dreaded thoughts at large, banishing my existence in its entirety from the very core of your subconscious?
My mind can't help but drift towards the delectability of certain passages you once spoke to me, or the misfortune of being granted the position: 'Loyal Recipient", to a heart that would later appear to be nothing more than an image of great misrepresentation. Alas, I find harrowing comfort in the uncertainty of it all, and so I shall continue to ponder upon the subject, for the sake of keeping my mind fixed on unimaginable beauty.
1 comment:
You're amazing.
Your talent is driving me crazy.
x
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