Is it the color or the light?
Is it the soft or gentle?
Is it inward or outward?
All the pretty things, are unfadable, untouchable and transcendent.
Happy Easter to all.
Heartfelt treasures cannot be stored in parchment or jade, they are more resilient than the most luminous mineral and more timeless than words could ever maintain. But who am I to complain? For there seems nothing more romantic than a weathered book, scorched by the hands of time or anything more transcendent then a string of jade.
The mask that owns us, indulges and conceals.
I found welcome to a dream that I had this fish; it was beautiful in the way that I knew I loved and cherished it. Its blue iridescence was my pride and joy that I kept it close to me, protection of utmost. Waves thundered against rocks and I promised, “I will not let anything hurt you.” I road the current to carry us thorough but on the shore soul-less flesh eaters surrounded us. My promise, I could only keep it, if I ended this precious life myself and to make it quick, for they are upon us. I woke unable to honor such a promise in my dream, returning with the memory of an excruciating choice, as if it is a memory and not a dream. The trouble real, the promise unfulfilled and the welcome to a dream hunting for a source.