monologue with the night [30]

 

tonight, the West lake, lit by electric light before my eyes, youth drifts away on the ocean of my soul to somewhere unknown

i’m writing my confession, and I will never outlive…

well

what awaits you ? but the boredom of the inability of explaining ?

minimalism is just not the way

.

she is pretty and she is young, all mine to take : willing, naive, already tainted. but in the end, this room is cold, I can not do it. my soul is cold, it needs caressing, it needs tender words. my soul is old, it isn’t blindly attracted to beauty as before. so as she lays there, a trace of white in that soft black of a night, already in her dream, full of things that dominate a life, becomes far away, not even a sex object anymore, a thing that has become alien to me, a girl, a human

.

the urge is too strong, it tears me apart,

while numbness pours down like an avalanche, from the lack of love

a strange feeling, combined of sadness and revealation, it sings to me like a bitter soft wave of the sea

somewhere below my feet, the earth still goes on

turning

.

slowly

do you hear ?

.

i’m closer to know

what love is

.

.

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