What we are is no longer consistent; we keep changing and starting anew. You’re like a novel winter that I’ve never known. I struggle with the difficulty that comes with embracing you, and cold nostalgia chills me to the bone.
What we shared remains untouched, for it is pure and beautiful in all senses. But we change. Your November rain left me awash; I tried to understand. You say I became the song you loved but got tired of listening to. The words are now empty, and all the meanings lost their charm. But you’re trying to understand and embrace.
I’m changing the words, and I will learn to swim through your rains.
The empty canvas or the iridescent; what we choose to show is perceived subjectively, and without the proper explanation, one perception may render my empty canvas something it is not. An explanation is a limit, however. To one person, it is a unique complexity; to another, it is a simple virtuosity. But all the possibilities form an ulterior beauty: it’s never the same for each and every person.
There are numerous days in which I’m an empty canvas, and an explanation is demanded; I’m not good with explanations. I no longer have the energy to provide them. And the possibilities, in this instance, terrify those who demand the explanation. They see something they don’t understand… and they are terrified and distressed. Can you blame them?
It is merely a conflict; a conflict of colors and no colors at all. How do you perceive those who choose colors and those who choose none?!
Whether I am the empty canvas or the iridescent one, I, with all my heart, and all my soul, need to be both; to be every color and no color at all.
It is essential to be subject to all possibilities, to be limitless; with no explanation. Alone, I choose to be dark blue. With you, I chose to be lime green. And with them, I was colorless.
Everyone’s resided in a kingdom of dreams and nightmares. My eyes remain wide open, for I don’t usually visit that kingdom at this particular time. I’m awake and accompanied by thoughts. They’re my company, but why do they keep telling me that I’m lonely?!
Perhaps I’m not so lonely; I have the moon, the stars, and the dawn. I love them, they are marvelous, and they keep me company. How could I be alone when I have them?! And I’m certain that they’ll never leave before I do. So, am I really lonely?
Perhaps I’m in love with the tranquility of this time of the day. It is the perfect time to wander into the limitless iridescent worlds your mind creates; the worlds where you are your real self with no faces, no fake smiles, and no false images. You just feel like you’re the only person on earth, and though your thoughts would tell you it’s lonely, and though you might feel it is, and you wish you had someone you love with you, it is also beautiful and peaceful.
At 4 am, you either be asleep or you be at a different kind of world.
Books and movies. They provide a sanctuary for those who seek beauty in the form of words. Even though this beauty could sometimes make us cry our eyes out, it gives us this priceless and beautiful feeling.
The writer creates a person, and it’s not just a person. It’s a fraction of the writer’s soul. And we… we fall in love with that fraction. We draw this perfect image of that fraction in our minds, and we fantasize how great it would be if it was real. We live the written words with this person, and we even fantasize about being that person.
The essence of the book-movie-beauty is when that person dies in the book or in the movie. It is really beautiful how we get affected emotionally by their death. We cry, we grieve, and we spend days like this. It really is dazzling how we are affected by such a work of art that it makes us cry. sad, yet beautiful.
Sadness is a beautiful feeling, and it brings out your artistic self a bit. And it’s even more beautiful when it is induced by a movie or a book.