the window.
I do believe that I pay far too much attention to detail. I have my understanding of the human body. I have perfection intertwined with the dips and curves of the english language. I have my recognition and appreciation of beauty. I have my love for one’s existence. I have my answers to your questions. I have tiny bits of my consciousness, shaped into a sentence. I am strawberry and wine flavored love in a box.
you’re so linguistic and yet you cannot speak.
this is nothing less than a masterpiece. all of this. look around you. you stretch and you breathe and move and speak and you connect and you touch and you listen and you sigh and you know that everything is where it is meant to be. that cannot be questioned.
you can open your eyes and open your mouth and some intangible love can spill from your throat and it can rise into the atmosphere and twist and turn and collide with the clouds and it can leave a mark. every move you so effortlessly make will leave a mark.
that cannot be questioned.
there are none as perfected as we. there are none so polished and defeated and knowledgeable and sugar free and none so eager to find what it is we may be searching for. all we need is to reach our metaphorical mountain top.
but when push comes to shove, we are the elite and we have nothing to search for but our modesty. which may as well be non-existent for we do not deserve such a trait. we are the water. we will replenish.
and although we are the dead, the colorless, the wearied, the betrayed, the ruthless, and the unconventional…
we are the masterpiece.
and that cannot be questioned.
