Faded Fantasy3 читателя тэги

Автор: Beramode

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You could be my favourite taste

To touch my tongue

I know someone who could serve me love

But it wouldn’t fill me up


I like high places now, and night. I’ve come to associate altitude and darkness with a kind of tenderness–it’s a time when I let my mind wander, when I dream, when my cigarettes seem to taste different. It’s the time when I love you.


I adore you, but I hate you too. You’re a prison smothered in flowers. I can’t stand this enchantment anymore, I can’t stand being bewitched like this–when I look at you, my gaze turns to nothing but a mirror of light, I’ll stare at you hypnotized for ages, and when I stop seeing you I’ll feel you, and when I stop feeling you I’ll die.


Do not condemn me to the torture of loving you, losing you, and having life yet left to live.


Know this:

I am addicted to you.

I have tasted your

mind, and I cannot

forget its flavour.


Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.


You don’t want to hear the story

of my life, and anyway

I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.


And anyway it’s the same old story—

a few people just trying,

one way or another,

to survive.


Mostly, I want to be kind.


You are killing me, but you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you. Come оn and kill me. I do not care who kills who.


Someday, somewhere, with someone, there may be the chance to balance, to stabilize, to learn to integrate all. Who knows? But maybe?


I fell оnto love like a sword

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