February

Silence bears beauty. There’s a land of dreams in the places where there’s nothing: patches of desolate air, uninhabitable soil bleached down to the bone when even your blood spills dust and the water feels like chalk. It’s never been a thirst I can’t fill, more like a sound I can’t imitate, or a type of air I can’t find. It’s never been like breathing. More like blood. To bleed a certain way, everything and nothing at the same time: sublimity. Duality. Tranquility. Chaos.

Peace is catastrophe crashing the walls of my mind while my exterior gathers the still silence of the room. Alone. Everything is beautiful. I need balance. Alone.

Words make such beautiful sounds and echo the essence of such glorious feelings while locking them in boxes labeled inadequate, not-so-much, and flowery. Red and blue… we’ll call it purple. Another human being entering this world with all it’s feelings, opinions, resonance and beauty… we’ll call it born. The deepest, darkest, purest form of feeling we’ve ever come to know, that leads us to death, life, and all in between, that motivates most of our movements and has an application to anything and everything physical and abstract… we’ll call it love. Now locked in a box called Indescribable.

Writing. Something you simply have to do.

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