Eleven fifty-nine
Like your favorite ambrosian juice and long caramel series, there's always an end. Everything has an end. The arcane rainbow, the beating rain, your aching pain. Hunger is a feeling, and to conquer it, you must feed it.
The strongest things are buried
beneath the ground, in the dark, in the unknown and to know how much you can hold, you must reach your threshold.
As powerful as the motley moon, it’s not full every nebulous night. Even the purified stars disappear. Your beauty doesn’t rest only in fullness, It blooms in your maroon mistakes,
your balmily imperfections, and your empyreal past. You do not exist without
them—hold them like a teddy, sing a pumpkin lullaby and let it be your Nexus.
For just like you, what holds the trees are unseen. Be it your resin fears or your shrinking folds, your amort traumas or flaming losses, give them a chance to win,
Whatever you give power to,
controls everything you have control over.
when something breaks,
it never returns to what it was.
It either stays unfixed or is made into something better. Every grain I’ve lost
gave me a chance for something more.
The beauty of the tangerine
sea glass lies in the turns of the tumult storms and corpulent tides. Some things aren’t seen, yet create the best results.
For what we become, we dream, and to dream, we must live. Like life, dreams are tunnels and we must sway through.
In that dark journey lies a vessel—yourself.
Flowers and thorns both exist in that path,
but you must know that you are not alone.
There’s an end to sadness, uncertainty, failure, rejection, and heartbreak.
But to fully sink into goodness, you must first be buried in the fins of kismet.
The thick padded clouds show their thighs, but can never stop the skylight or the rain. What I become, I become. What I seek, I seek. What seeks me, answers me first. For all the lives I couldn't live, embrace me in the next. And for all the dreams I couldn’t dream, wake me up in the next.
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