Collection of Recollections, Part III
your lips tremble.
three, two, one.
everything becomes blurry shadows all around us.
are you trying to summon ancient trickery.
ah, I know what you are collecting,
as if it is tangible and moldable,
three, two, one.
everything becomes blurry shadows all around us.
are you trying to summon ancient trickery.
ah, I know what you are collecting,
as if it is tangible and moldable,
sweetling, you're trying to make love appear.
you whisper again.
four, five, six.
everything becomes clear
you stand there looking at me,
on your eyes a question formed
oh! you've been waiting for a long time
but, no
no, my darling, love is not here.
— darling, you cannot force love
stony, rough and ridges,
barely used and unobtainable.
the softest part of your spirit,
i beg of you to recall:
what is asleep but not forgotten,
what is tainted but not irredeemable,
what is unused but not broken.
can you remember?
something utterly yours,
that I desperately wish to be mine
— your zealous heart
i remember opening my window one morning. my mother reproached, close the window, you will let the flies in. but i did not listen to her, my longing burning. i kept asking, the world kept me in, is a windowed cage much better than windowless one. my mother was without answer, unlike my father. girl, you should be glad this cage is keeping you alive from this destructive world. my parents, the contrasted constant worrywarts.
this was not gilded cage that I speak of. it was not made of softness, lulling, whispers, silvers and golds. neither was it brutal. this cage people call homeland, this price for living in the grey, neither developed or developing. rotting in the perpetuity of stagnancy. impatience was a luxury. the price of freedom was consuming war and swallowing heartaches, and unfamiliarity and running and disembarkment.
mother spoke in hushed tones, the freedom you are seeking of can only be obtained by pursuing romantic relationship.there it was, she talked of impossible thing, an extincted remembrance of time long past, a life that had never meant to be voiced. it was about a partnership that only few could sample, even less that could devour. a life my parents only know.
the world was spinning around, around, around, and up, up, and up. everything was messy, jumbled, scrambled, and dirty. i crave for everything light, soft, peaceful, fragranced, and lively — is it my fault for seeking purity?
what is human if not being weighted by the smothering relentless questions and requests. they do not teach me how to fall in love with ethereal knights, they had me endured the pressure of being molded into a beast. grow fangs, they ordered, build your armour. they prepared me for an impending war, an impossible one. brutal, savage, with heart as tender as a feather could never survive. it was forbidden to be unprepared and helpless. i want to perform the most illustrious illegal act: the murder of expectation. — imprisonment before conviction
you whisper again.
four, five, six.
everything becomes clear
you stand there looking at me,
on your eyes a question formed
oh! you've been waiting for a long time
but, no
no, my darling, love is not here.
— darling, you cannot force love
stony, rough and ridges,
barely used and unobtainable.
the softest part of your spirit,
i beg of you to recall:
what is asleep but not forgotten,
what is tainted but not irredeemable,
what is unused but not broken.
can you remember?
something utterly yours,
that I desperately wish to be mine
— your zealous heart
i remember opening my window one morning. my mother reproached, close the window, you will let the flies in. but i did not listen to her, my longing burning. i kept asking, the world kept me in, is a windowed cage much better than windowless one. my mother was without answer, unlike my father. girl, you should be glad this cage is keeping you alive from this destructive world. my parents, the contrasted constant worrywarts.
this was not gilded cage that I speak of. it was not made of softness, lulling, whispers, silvers and golds. neither was it brutal. this cage people call homeland, this price for living in the grey, neither developed or developing. rotting in the perpetuity of stagnancy. impatience was a luxury. the price of freedom was consuming war and swallowing heartaches, and unfamiliarity and running and disembarkment.
mother spoke in hushed tones, the freedom you are seeking of can only be obtained by pursuing romantic relationship.there it was, she talked of impossible thing, an extincted remembrance of time long past, a life that had never meant to be voiced. it was about a partnership that only few could sample, even less that could devour. a life my parents only know.
the world was spinning around, around, around, and up, up, and up. everything was messy, jumbled, scrambled, and dirty. i crave for everything light, soft, peaceful, fragranced, and lively — is it my fault for seeking purity?
what is human if not being weighted by the smothering relentless questions and requests. they do not teach me how to fall in love with ethereal knights, they had me endured the pressure of being molded into a beast. grow fangs, they ordered, build your armour. they prepared me for an impending war, an impossible one. brutal, savage, with heart as tender as a feather could never survive. it was forbidden to be unprepared and helpless. i want to perform the most illustrious illegal act: the murder of expectation. — imprisonment before conviction