An uncanny excitement for life, a hunger, a child-like bewilderment and wonderment for revelations yet untapped and untamed, a reckless yet humbled youthfulness versed in nothing but inexperience. To see what, without would be bland and blanched with a grey mark of dull.
opening every door that with it came no stipulation or print of who was to enter it. These are the so ever growing themes of my imagination and ambition.
a decade of deliberation with the darkness that brings questions and confusion of what life needs to be, written so eloquent across my minds facade. yet deeper, a yearning lies, that defies description that breaks the regulation of meaning. a simple and pure yearning for what is of paramount pleasure and satisfaction, or bigger than satisfaction but a fulfilment that is too much to hold spilling over the sides with excitement and splendour. A yearning for that which is love.
Trials of the past educate ones soul to defend a breach that holds no holistic purity or good intention, but that may be the single critical downfall of oneself. a resolute and binding patronage to the fallacy that if for some inexplicable but relatable notion one should have a propensity for this adventure of the soul, it is assumed it would return beaten, bruised and broken.
But arrives a relief from this inquiry, an inhalation of clarity that exemplifies the same smooth essence of comfort as to the curve of her waist and the hush in her voice. A spot of beauty befalls upon her face that suggests something unworldly. she brings riches to the soul that has seen poverty. she holds me without touch, she keeps me without chains. She lies restless for the periphery is not enough, she deserves more, she is more, she is everything.