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from my failed Konica shots
It's winter Sunday and I will never forget. I wrote it all over the back of a postcard, of The Great Wave off kanagawa once, the rusting colors of deficit attention to details. Perhaps they all wouldn't appreciate any kind of eye for it but for myself it means too much to me with this one. I took time, and space, and a bit too much of glimpse of the future to know that it will soon come to a beginning - that some time soon they will all become a blandishment to compensate for the memories, of the things I never could fulfill, and the one I could not become. You see time has its thing to things, it knows what it wants for even the worst times. I gave it a chance, and I gave it much contemplation. Even through all the walking, I found that I wanted myself to be sprinting, even when I've given my life, I found that I needed to meet the necessary. I hope they stop snapping at my heels for once - and give me a time to process the little time I've left for this. I would love to remind myself that I've done enough for the past few months - even though I know that I've been telling myself that I haven't done much.
I wish I could put my earnestness into great words - that blue and red does not make the purple of your dreams and never will it be the purple that turn somebody pink with a touch. I want to tell you the things life has taught me, but I also want to tell you that I have started to hate believing in certain things. I have yet never felt so indignant, the remnants of indifference I have tried to feel turned into absolute antipathy for the manipulation you figured. I want you to know that I hope you know, even with just a thought in your head gives me all kinds of wave - of acrimony - what audacity - some fine day everyone will see that look of resentment you gave me when I was alone with you. The fabricated thing you hold that you hide, I will never understand how they have all found solace in the flaw of the chase. I used to sit back and think of the world as it is, but the truth is so stale - yet so misinterpreted. They all seem so fabricated with colors yet I still can't seem to get it out of my head that they're no longer any of the colors I used to see - that you could think of it as something that is nothing, and take it as a fool. At the end of the day if things ever turn around back to you, I know that the skies will be on my side. It told me once to believe in myself, even if you actually don't. Crippling corners, will soon find its way back to you. you see, I stopped giving much detail to it.. For I've found that I could never see those things again without feeling all the acrimony that I have never felt before, which meant everything once.
I find that it's a strange act myself. I know somewhere above the maker will be thoroughly appalled at my recognition, but I can't find other ways to express my thoughts of how things have changed but here's that and putting it out there: I guess were my first. I tried not to hop to the preposterous conclusion of how some things that mean the world to me, were taken away from me long ago. I hope I do not fall into the category of giving too much to something which should not even be a part of my cognizance - it has gone quite far for me just to let this be just a mistake to be. I guess I have also let it come too far to think I came in terms with myself. I honestly want to apologize for the things I feel;
but I know deep in my heart, that some things should not be forgiven.
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