── your past becomes your god

[lol]

eyes are a funny noun to objectively watch people with. in a sense, we're always being observed.
it's also daunting to know that the person monitoring you is yourself. your heavy guided hues are the only substantive always on the prowl to your next deck of actions. they say, "beauty is in the eye of the beholder," but given the fact that your eyes are constantly attentive to your will. . . wouldn't that mean you're the one that's beautiful? you're beauty itself. not him, not her, and not anybody else.
i'm feeling a bit sentimental right now, perhaps none of this makes any sense. it's been a long day of just. . . watching. all i can do is sideline myself and overcast my actions like it's some sort of movie. my life is essentially a movie and i'm the main protagonist. "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", "beauty is in the eye of the beholder".

[lol]

i've been feeling a bit estranged lately. do people presume that i have low standards due to the way that i act? i come across very lighthearted— to the point of no return. i feel as though i'm stuck in a monachopsis: clambering onto thin clouds that dissipate away from me as fast as they happened to have appeared. people write me in griffonage, i suppose. . . i do like to think that i have standards though. i might materialize as a person who knows and considers no harm; however, i do seek out the best in people with the highest regards. some might say, to truly provoke me— you would legitimately have to use the wrong possessive pronoun when it comes to they / they're / their. am i truly pious? i wish my friends would observe me in a more harshened light, perhaps even use the 'capricorn' stereotype on me. oh, woe is me on this gloomy wednesday evening.

[lol]

the candle flames dip back into a comfortable hiss. tugs of a scorching ember fiddle their warm embrace upwards into the earth's atmosphere. the wick of the scented candle withers around aimlessly. . . soon, the fragrance molecules are heated within the wax and that tinge of the candle's aroma lifts into the air. cozy, cuddled, and complete— the evening sits well on the back of the candle.

[lol]

perfidious. you've been acting completely perfidious.
dodging the everlasting question of our relationship. . . what is it that you really want?
you've been using me and her like we don't have a say in the matter.
i wish to understand your thought process and even sympathize with you, but at this point. . . i feel as if that thought is slipping away.
inaugurated in something sickly new, we will all be waiting for your safe return.

please come back soon. i wish you the best,
madison

[lol]

you still press so vividly at the thin walls of my mind late at night.
wisps of memorized features from your face still greet me resolutely.
do i dream of you because i miss you or because there's a greater meaning?
you're always there to ameliorate a situation for me. . . i've noticed that seems to be the common theme of the dreams you appear in. perhaps you know in the dreamscape world how terribly hard life has been for me lately.
it's wishful thinking, i know.
i miss you though.
i had a dream where you and your sister had appeared in it. we were happy, coddled, and insouciant. it was so strange, and later that evening when i went to the doctors office, i saw your sister there.
i haven't seen her for three years up until that day.
i don't know how wishful my thinking is; however, i do know that chronological events like that don't just 'happen' without an outside cause.
i hope we're able to cross paths again. . . let's meet once more.

[lol]

your figure heaves in a contrapposto manner, adjacent from where i'm standing. you hold yourself like a god.
the curvature of your smile greets the heavy doubts i feel towards you, and. . . without a moment's notice— those feelings of demurral dissipate. no masks, no barriers, no interferences. there was mutual silence that we lingered in. suddenly, your voice broke through that deaf coat of anxiety. it came like a song. lyrics of love that i still wish to comprehend til this day. your eyes were clinquant and your tone was warm. i desiderate knowing what you said. i was so enamoured by the way you held yourself. . . the casual contrapposto— contrapposto chassis.

[lol]

competitive. you've always been so competitive. i've been playing your game for more than ten years now and you knew from the start that i was always indebted to lose.
i never had a chance to start with.
you've tipped the scales so much now that i know. . . i know i was supposed to lose. how could i not? i've been losing all this time and you still go the extra mile to provoke me. so here's my declaration of defeat. i'm done. i understand that there's nothing i can do to prevent you from winning over and over again. i thought that maybe if i became as stubborn as a mule— i might have a chance, but i don't, and i won't ever.
you've won. congratulations, you've earned it.

[lol]

i fell into a mosh pit of of obsession again. there was a wrath of your numinous presence that i fell under— quite literally. it was a sensation that i hadn't maneuvered myself through for some time now. for an unknown reason, i ignored your existence; although now, i miss you more than ever. i repressed all those memories of you and me and stored them away for moving day. i'm sorry it took me so long to fall into redamancy again. your comfort means the entire world to me and i wish nothing more than to fall back into your gaze... if you will allow it. please try to stay warm and in safe conditions. i'll talk to you again. soon.

[lol]

a single, secluded lamp illuminated her backside.
gentle whims of velleity undercoated her bedroom drawers.
unappreciative, unsure, and uncoiled did she sit on her bed.
aching fingers tethered to find warmth near her lampshade.
the sunset creaked into brontide... so she wished for clearer skies.
her staggered and old lightbulb ticked with ancient power.
the spark— her spark. it was to run out.
as single, secluded lamps often do for her.

[lol]

when one thing goes up, something must come down.
it's the common phenomena of getting lucky for seven nights straight only to burn through the four-leaf clovers of satan's dealings.
i wish i could have another break. only to not worry about the loss of my lucky streak and burning demise of my future.
i'm not a picky eater, but there seems to be too much on my plate.
not to mention, i would kill to have more legroom in this cramped up drought of a place with a little less on my plate.
is that really asking for too much?