eight
Every decade there is a ‘new’ world. Maybe it is a century? Maybe it is an eon? He does not know anymore. There is always something new. He is never quite adapting- always only conquering and resigning in lack of interest. How can something keep your intentions anymore? How can love or loins or lust thrust you to the ground and call this home? How do you conquer something you have no desire to be in? But isn’t that just the knack of it- living forever and continuing to (somehow) keep on?
Isn’t that just the thing of it- of living forever, being constantly bound to this ephemeral curse of a land- you always run into those you once found. And today? Today it is you, Ryatah. The constant shifting, the divided lands, the things we once knew and now do not- it all convenes into here and now, a long lost parting that succeeds into a greeting. Rinse, repeat, let go.
You are born anew once again - forever looking different, a shifting shade in the past and present (and future?). Some things always change (you, you, you) and some things will always stay the same (him). Change is visceral; but it cannot pierce something you know into your bones. You are no different, truly, from the first day he met you- gnarled eyes and yawning spaces where things should be. You can paint a picture in many colors, but the canvas will still be stretched taught below.
“Somehow still, somehow will always be.” It is languid and casual, a cat curling between your legs- for he had seen your milky aura coming closer- gleaming gems where sight should be, gold singing on the horizon, a crooked crown where love shouts be. “You look different. A pointed pause. “Again.”.
Isn’t that just the thing of it- of living forever, being constantly bound to this ephemeral curse of a land- you always run into those you once found. And today? Today it is you, Ryatah. The constant shifting, the divided lands, the things we once knew and now do not- it all convenes into here and now, a long lost parting that succeeds into a greeting. Rinse, repeat, let go.
You are born anew once again - forever looking different, a shifting shade in the past and present (and future?). Some things always change (you, you, you) and some things will always stay the same (him). Change is visceral; but it cannot pierce something you know into your bones. You are no different, truly, from the first day he met you- gnarled eyes and yawning spaces where things should be. You can paint a picture in many colors, but the canvas will still be stretched taught below.
“Somehow still, somehow will always be.” It is languid and casual, a cat curling between your legs- for he had seen your milky aura coming closer- gleaming gems where sight should be, gold singing on the horizon, a crooked crown where love shouts be. “You look different. A pointed pause. “Again.”.
mind my wicked words and tipsy topsy smirk
@[Ryatah]