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Wednesday, 21 September 2011

Photobucket



Photobucket

I remember when everything was a bowl of cherries. When everything was honey-this and glitter-that, and sugar sweet saccharine peachy-keen words dripped through sentences making a pretty mess everywhere, sliding around the curves of an S, collecting like a rockpool in the hole of an O. The pavements melted in the Summer heat, lemonade was served, magic was something that would fill your lungs with each breath, circle your spine, run through your veins, and in your fingertips electricity would pulse like tiny heartbeats.

And I remember how the glow faded and on everyone's bitten bubblegum lips the same words lived, and I realised that we were all just photocopies in greyscale of something saturated with the brightest of the rainbow colours that we would forever imitate and never be. And why would we want to, and how can we change?

And so I cleared up the glitter and the honey and the stars and trees and dreams. I replaced it with cold hard concrete and ash and the feeling you get when you take off your badge of honour that you were awarded for sadness, and oh how pretty that sadness was but it's time to leave it behind. Now I think that all of your stars, all of that light and the lanterns and the glowing glowing glorious glowing is too bright, it burns, it stings. It is harsh and artificial, I prefer the daylight, the natural light and the shadows that come with it, the shades the shapes the colours the lines. I prefer the natural darkness, all that lies in between the two. I am tired of finding the loveliness in all things lovely.

The rotten, the dusty, the broken, the ruins, the cracking and coughing and banality of everyday existence, this is where I will find the beauty. It is honest and raw. It has good and bad permeating every atom of it's delapidated being. The days will rust and crumble into night, and I will feel it in my bones, it will consume me, with every facet of it's tattered charms.

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