I’ve seen a few stories up here recently and decided to post this one. It is a quick piece I wrote this morning.
Feel free to post any comments or thoughts.
Astounding—I was a fabulist in earlier days weeks; much of a life between the edges of words characterized characterizing. Pondering relations like relatives of/with varying self-interpretive unhinged unhinging, sorrow sucked or succeeding, furor feeble and funereal. I was wrought with convention form wrought by an individual belief through a convention of thought—carrying no action without circumstance with fear joy, comfortable or near as eyes and years.
Lasting, lasting elsewhere—an allowance of abject allowance; dim color fades; dim color aged. Formulating intensely burning delicately with unbridled fortune: tentative, turbulent hope. So I was in harmony with the pretense of love.
But the very red of a face. Blood of flesh—
Come darling, on a in mine.
I was doomed from the beginning, wiping death from this face. Pressing my heart to her cheek and grasping again color grasping fear.
Onus possession of dim color brightened for a year.