Thelifestylechannel
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it’s past midnight the equivalent of the beginning of my day and i sit here going through facebook and wondering where did my muses go with all their frustration and longing that inspired words, so much precious words. At times i wish we had met some other time, some future time where the both of us will have already walked up and down streets and beds and even more beds until we reach that point we have exhausted that kind of world… then and only then can we fall into each other’s arms and say, this is it. i want this. this is it. like we’re doing now.
tomorrow is another pleasant day with you though cut in half from the pressing concerns of the outside world. but i look forward to your bed and your sheets and dragging you into them.
we suffer for our art. do we naturally then gravitate towards unhappiness to create (our words so many precious words)? but i will choose you instead of the muses that inspire worlds or the muses that i chase in the words because your apparition is real… so real that the tragedy you promise and the tragedy that promises in turn to spawn the Word that will change the world is/might be a good consolation. that i will bury you, bury you with coffee spoons in words like a (un)forgotten city. then all wont be well because i dont have you.
you mentioned in passing that now that you’ve chosen me there’s no leaving. good. good because i was already planning ways in how to bodily attach you to this floor.
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