A CRISIS OF MISAPPREHENSION
A CRISIS OF MISAPPREHENSION  crisis stories
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helios
helios Struggling-
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
My feelings, my thoughts, me as a human, my crisis. (part 1???)

A CRISIS OF MISAPPREHENSION

Time is overrated. Time is always a concern but I never understood why. I don't have enough time for this, I don't have time for that...It doesn't require that much of attention, really.

Life is meant to be lived. Not to be busy worrying about the strange concept of not having enough time to do certain things but the truth is, you always will.

You can always go wherever you want, you can always kiss whoever you want and that's what matters.

Familiar faces locked away in unknown prisons. I will never cease my restraint of you, love.

You've got a mind no word could ever do it justice, you take my breath away, you've got my heart tangled in some intricate trap.

How much longer do I have to repress this?

In my fantasy, we lay together, intertwined on the cold floor of a small bookstore,

which is slightly masked by the trees at the end of the street reading our favorite lines from our favorite books to each other, talking for hours about what meaning they hold to us.

The planets align for you, the planets would die for you. I've been trying. I've been trying to extinguish this fire, to quench my thirst for you but I could never.

You will always remain my mystery.

How can I ever contain my desire for you in petty little words? See, I've always believed in the magic of words but I don't think I've ever thought I'd live long enough to see the magic of you.

Those soft, soft eyes. The ones wandering shamelessly. The ones that belong to such inexplicably magical beings.

In a world where night-time lasts forever, my body is a canvas. The only thing I'm missing are your paintings. Will you be my artist? Just for the night? You've put my heart in a trance.

Time can be bent for you. If it takes falling off a cliff to describe the way such beings hypnotize me, then I would do it without ever looking back.

How can a thought so dark, so ghastly, feel like home?

Don't you ever wonder what Death might be thinking? When they hold onto feeble souls and crush them between their fingers, are they tired? Are they fed up? Or are they satisfied?

Are they pleased?

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