Recounts - Tumblr Posts
Tired, sad, day.
The rain brings news, carried in your watery lifeblood.
Darling world, you are so sad, and so very tired.
You wonder why. Why can't they see.
The life inside them.
The love in everything around them.
Hello leaf.
Hello tree.
Hello bug.
Hello we.
Am I painfully loving you more today because it feels like it's finally ending? The rain said it might be true.
A tipping point reached? Is it true?! Is it true?!
The fall is slow and devastating.
I've witnessed blood on every pawn, slitting their own throats to keep burning paper and lawns.
I want to curse them!
May the next world be bereft of humans, as wonderful as they are, may it be done with them!
They hate the idea of lost control (like it was real in the first place).
Tear their own beloved children down to keep something that doesn't exist.
I cry, because...
Because I cannot curse them.
They are still so dear to me. They are you, they carry your blood in their veins, made of the same elements and spark you breathe, and thus I cannot hate them, but so wish that I could.
I wish it were not true. I wished against wishes and broke the sky with a paradox.
The disappointment is crushing me. The weight of a worlds gravity crumbling itself into my shoulders, my chest, my humble horrid heart.
They do not know what they do. They think they do, think they're in charge and can bend everything to fit into a box or a cage.
They only trust what they see with glass filters, lightshards embedded into pupils from birth, thus blinded beyond repair. Beyond simplicity and truth.
I know we are the ones who hurt you. I feel your pain and fear keening, ground rumble, air sheared.
I am so, so sorry.
We tried. Will keep trying. Old habits are hard to break.
Baby earth and loving sky, it is true, it is true. The tirade is endless, and these forms so fragile and finite.
Your gifts may be for nought. Your visions and knowings will rend me anew.
I was not built for this.
But sheltered you are, will be. I know of none others who will let you speak through and to them. To us. To we. (Is the loneliness part of the gift? May we not know each other?)
My home is fraught with the misfires they call pain, panic and euphoria. Tribute and trade for the gift of feeling. Of seeing without eyes and hearing without sound.
Dream a dream, for you, for we. Find in it's gilt edges a kindness, a softly winding threaded seam of wild, unbroken horizon.
Take my strength, my hope. I will trade you them for tears. For now.
I'll love you for as long as I can.
Please,
hold
on.
Please,
stay
here.