We are agoraphobic little children, weaving gold from straw and placing spider kisses on handkerchiefs. You play a game of ocd and multiple personality disorders in which you will pluck hair from my bangs and dangle choices upon fine copper string. I'm sure your name has more than six letters because the best things in the world are never even, and your favourite colour will not be blue, or purple, but rather indigo or puce. You will be my four-leaf clover and downy feather, a gift from angels long departed. I know for a fact you will refuse to bury your face in my neck because yours will be far too beautiful to hide from such a grey world.
-c. the pursuit of happyness by alais-photography, literature
Literature
-c. the pursuit of happyness
clearly its much easier to see the
imperfections in life than it is to admit to myself
that half the time its my fault; and you
know better than most how the easy is
tempting. i want to think of you and feel
happiness surge through me. i want
to be able to see your smile in
my mind, and know i'm smiling too.i liked to picture the two of us together in a
silver photo frame, but somehow all I could see was
you gliding away on that little cloud of
h a p p i n e s s
and my little bundle of ashes let's laugh on winter mornings. i want
to watch my breath fly free, just so bliss
can seem lucid. please,
and not an illusio
fear. f-e-a-r
no matter how many times i spell it
out, say it, think it, i can't feel it.
is it possible to fear being able to
feel?
you're like an overdose of
anaesthesia to me, and as it turns out, i'm allergic
to painkillers.
if i can't feel then why am i hurting? how did you
do this to me? maybe i can feel only
what you want me to.
i walked into minefields for
you. i'd do it again, but you
already know that.
the thing is, it only looked like a minefield from my end.
to you, it became a field of daisies
the whole world did, just for you.
somehow the image of me changed on its way from me to you.
you saw pink lips, smooth