Broken T-Wraps

I have been chasing a feeling my whole life, concomitantly fighting shy of gloom. Violently learning that keeping alive differs from living in almost every sense. Faithfully looking for the purple moon that would show me the way to the stars I woke up once again, the cold shiver watering down my spine as I was rendered clueless, once again.
Your message gifted light to my bellicose dark ink. Who would have thought I would start painting colours in the distance? Who would have thought I would meet the embodiment of my vivacity in such a belligerent sitch?
I am aware of my undeservedness and my past, dishonourable. Howbeit, if a fact can not be disparaged, it is that even after being racked with pain, feeling belittled by powerlessness and slighted by helplessness, I have prevailed. Looking for myself in the most recondite places and feelings with one purpose in mind and one only. Fighting beastly sorrows in aim of descrying resoluteness, looking for another day.
It is commonly said that time can erase, sometimes I wish it would take action in my mind. At any rate, I have to admit that your absent presence has made me rediscover feelings I thought were permanently lost. The ravishing evenings that brought conviction to my crippling indifference make my pen shout in merrymaking delirium… and I am grateful for that. Frequently cudgel my brains thinking on whether fate put you in the position to leave because I would not be able to keep away or maybe all of this was just not what I thought of in the first place. Be that as it may, figured I would rather indulge my craving than strip myself of the only positive feelings that have appeared in far longer than my memory can recall.
It is us racers that never find peace, rushing to hell and back so fast tears do not even have the chance to fall.
What if all of this was a lie? A construct of my desperation forcing me to believe in hollow promises that never came to be fulfilled. Making me cerebrate on ceaseless possibilities that are unsubstantial as they are precarious. Subversive to my Ka, alkadhibat alati la tantahi, the modern placement of a dreamy cast of characters, manipulators of my perception on a matter that involuntarily challenges my will.
In spite of everything, a prepossessing and undisclosed coercion still forces me to believe to a certain extent in the delectable feasibility in which the captivating reveries that have been cooking up in my subconscious are somehow tangible. I fear that I am not ready for being in a situation involving a need of providing a sincere caress to another atman. Nevertheless, I still believe in this universal binding of affection, not because of need, but rather pure, unasked disposal. Somehow, I still manage to be dull-witted enough to get a chance stuck in my head based on pure utter belief or stubbornness, granting a plastic misconception that inhibits my motivation on a daily basis.
Up to the present time, I wonder if all the lived was not the diegesis of the situation, but rather a teaser of what would soon come to be. Feasting on cruel memories, the concept of trust that resides in my head is likely to differ from everyone else’s. A vocational presence taking my call with any sense of independence and freedom of expression, A misleading fortune, a vastly improved sorrow, the propping clock erases my spirit at a leisurely pace.
A singular and endless effort, I undoubtedly believe that the longevity of my patience and tireless endeavour has not seen an end due to the nature of the desire that makes me soar in creativity and innovation for a charming moment that could or could not be. Believing that the possibility for consummating fulfilment still stands, even in the most microscopic expression, gives me a reason to keep going.

The split second I became aware that the concept I hate the most turned into the reason I still breathe makes me feel ignorant for not understanding what you told me that night I was rendered useless in my desire for taking action. Now that my mind has opened the way for understanding I took notice that instead of hating hope, I should be grateful for feeling it in spite of everything.
For all one knows, hope may be the reason I am so besotted with death, walking side by side with sleep, the creased concept of an imaginary farewell becomes the sole purpose for people’s lives. If there was not an imminent and inevitable end, no one would move.
Your nourishing advice compels me to wish I could borrow a piece of your mind and share a creative touch that is not forced upon by tragedy and sorrow. I remember that my plan used to be rather vindictive, lying in wait for the ideal juncture in which I would rise from the pool of pain I have been trapped in and retribute the evil that flooded my eye for so long. You made me feel at odds with my initial thoughts, yet I still lack confirmation on whether that is a sign of growth or vague conformity.
Although I thank your spirit for retrieving mine, I have learned ultimately that racers like me never flourish in the matters of the heart, for a screaming sprint unravels the tight knot that usually sticks in mortal’s throats, stripping me of all kinds of dishonesty.
I extend my gratitude for lifting my spirit when I only thought of declaring it up for loss but you will never understand me, you can not fit the shoes I walk in for my past carved holes on my soles and the acid death swamped the tricky roads I walk in. “Mala Madre”
If I had a chance to make my case I would show you the streets and boroughs that shaped me into the troubled prophet I have become. I don’t know if this is was what I was supposed to be but there’s no turning back now. If you let me I will show you the city that made me like this, maybe one day we could make something out of it. Violence and mayhem are the predecessors of ruin, and in every wreckage, there are materials for the new building.
I fear that these thoroughfares browbeat me in contempt to getting used to not seeing you, feel like the zip ties that made our flights go together are fading away, and even more painful than being viciously torn apart, I fear that these broken t-wraps will be permanently gone if lost. No matter what happens I will never disappear, and I know after trying. Hence my main concern, who will notice when I vanish? Will these writings prevail in the oceans of time and the name, transcend cultural boundaries and have a permanent position in history?
Living a racing life is living a life of threats, rebelling against the traditional conceptions of companionship, you taught me the new ways of love and no coincidence of fate that I am called to speak up on something bigger than popularity, I recognize that I need someone like you by my side.
I will curse for eternity the voice reminding me that I preached for millions, but never reached you. Maybe one day when we stand face to face we could use the broken ties that used to pull us towards each other to build the foundations of something that matters.

Patience is rewarded, however self control has never been my strong suit.

𓆲

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Remember I will love you forever, nonetheless, my love is serpentine and forever is a long time. 𓆕

I call game.