There’s a prelude to silence, to depth and to misery. Although, I may be that, it has turned to be a sickness, eating my inner organs bit by bit, tissue by tissue.
***
Just got back from Debate Camp last night. Fun.
I learned, I improved.
Another instance that gave me the golden ticket back to memory lane.
Somehow, it felt nauseating.
***
We go back to places that can never be familiar to me, except on tiptoed streaks. We press open our warmth, our diseases that unite nothing.
I make it a point that we remain laid-back to archeries and rocks that light the incandescent flame, the impoverished glow. It breaches the treaties I never really kept, as my fingers were crossed. Crossed, till now, to memorize your edges… to trace back the empty chairs and winds.
This night we lift to playful symmetry. A bashed torrent leaving both of us unharmed, unscathed. If it would be the only way for you to seize reprisal for every fixation I left, then let the fracas be.
Dragonflies.
Collisions.
Let’s never grow up.
Never
Grow up.
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