Everything Stays

 

'Tyrant', 'house of ruin', 'ruin of the house', 'a spiralling cart off track', will all easily cling to your image as easily as 'kindest and softest', 'fresh breath of life', 'most adored one' will. In the end you must relish in the truth that it makes no difference. You for no other than the things that warmed hearts up to you will be exiled, 'cept that the tint of your cheeks will appear smears of blood and shame and your smile sharp, your vulnerability will wash off and away as if it never was witnessed, and you are no longer weak, you no longer feel sadness or get tired, you have never asked for help or offered it, you are the invincible image of a never to be understood stranger. 

We must not mourn the violent tides of change, nor the ones we can barely feel until we're long swept further from familiar shores. It is astonishingly beautiful in every way, your mind will stretch and crack and implode before it understands it, and when it does it will be flooded with the most overwhelming of emotions. How grand of a blessing to be a mere pawn to time and still keep afloat in its currents, to know direction, decision and choice to heart and still let it be all through and around you. With a pride that infuriates the gods, know that what ever happened to you is yours, in its heinous pain, in its humanly impossible euphoria, in its revolting misfortune, in its sweet warmth, mediocrity and extraordinarity, all yours down to the millisecond. 

Whether they make a statement or not, events drop on the virgin-white blankness of life simply to do so, never coming off after they dry on it, and with every new wash of color become obscured and warped, appear different, but they are still there nonetheless, same silhouette which they took at first, same spot, next to one another, each is as mundane as the next, small and insignificant, at other days each is as grand and miraculous. If a thing has enough force to occur, then it has enough force to persist, or stain in the least.

You go and disappoint, and be cherished again, and cut up and stitch, and die to wake up in the morning, and bid adieu to greet, and internalize such great hatred that it could only revert to love at its peak and last moments, and spin back around this circle of logical chaos and never forget how much you are entirely captivated and enamoured by it, helpless and overwhelmed, reduced to a worshipper of the absurd, but empowered beyond your limits and expanded as freely as the universe does. The void only indicates once an occupation, you trip because you were moving in the first place, your failures don't erase your successes, you lose something only if you've had it, you wear off and pale because you've been alight, you were watered generously enough for your soul, so you thirst, you hunger because you've consumed. "It's finished, it's done. You can't take 'loved' away".