Goodmorning, Glory

monochromatic

It is the powerful clamoring of a sincere lost. The perfection of executing a mistake, the blissful smell of taking away, a longing of knowing what is between your comforted love, you have always been used to. This morning, some things became apparent, and more so touched me in a form unlike any other. The maybe’s, the if’s, the no’s and the unseen are becoming mortally solidifying, even if the concrete is right in front of me, leaving me, to choose a haunting or a presence. I am erasing pain, but resurrecting hurt, the channel is unwavering, you know, I guess confusing. I am succinctly assured of what my cause/mission is, it is of an angel who has had broken wings, exchanged feathers with ghosts of former adoration and I cannot seem to shake the static flight. Notice this all makes sense, the strategy of time is untested and needed. The only birth is the minute which demands the mind to expand/grow as much as it can, until it no longer can. Simple realizations, lead to the remorseful saint, the remorseful you. But there is another morning, for us to wake up and detail the assumptions of heartbreak and listen to the sonics of the hopeful. Love this process, it is ours, and I will forever claim my rights to it.

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