Feeling the same you felt before even being you under the experience of a totally different occasion, an emotional replay coming from your state of rebound. Sensing the silent potential of what may happen if catalysed, the hype about it that’s scary even for someone like you, who’ve felt it all already, you think. Should I let myself feel it again? The notion of such feelings, you have it, but would someone submit to a repeated ache that reverberates throughout the same pure hollowness that sprouted once as the memories arose from you and shone the common darkness upon you, the one you got ultimately used to. Your life for a while, a long bittersweet period of self placidness.
Coming to a recovery releases the mind for what’s out there by murdering the heart’s natural tendencies, the hot unconditionality molten and glued to the borders of this ethereal piece which is rememberance, a badge you won from showing yourself capable of being selfless to a level high enough it’s barely sane, to a point it creeps onto the clouds of non-sense. Smiling, for you love how love enriched you and still does everyday you picture the eyes of what’s gone for good. I feel it and I see my eyes overflow with love intended to be given back to someone else, if maybe I’m a good enough person now to do it and presuming she thought me the raw sufficient on humanity, colored my insides with a damp vividness that’s bluer than the true sky whenever the sun irradiates my core the right way. Her reminiscent remains I made sure to save as I still keep needing them every time I happily gaze the blue ceiling that is still not as blue as me and the eyes who’ve turned me into such a beautiful colour.
Being a voyeur of life happens to everyone who was lucky enough to stand in front of someone, close enough to tell themselves that this they are seeing right now, it’s all they need to know. Anyone who’s stood somewhere, his tongue out to taste the calcining drops of the ashen and distant sight of the love you longed for, only to notice its aroma is null, insipid as always but still an existant entity, and you rejoice in finding reason in eating these spoiled pieces of what should have been merely meaningless memories.
Really! Am I the only one who struggled to devour them?