At every corner, she glimpsed him. Through the mist, she saw his figure, looking at her, the love in his eyes never fading. She tightened her grip on 'his' hand, her love, and glanced back. Sometimes she wonders, was it true? What he believed in. Whether she was his princess. But, she lost that moment. And she lived in her present, and the past, a mirage. Nothing could change her love for 'him'. She looked into 'his' eyes and all her inhibitions disappeared. She didn't hear the soft crunch of leaves behind her. She was too occupied with her love, her beliefs, with 'him'. She didn't see him steal glances at her. And sometimes, he lost her again, in the mist, in the blur, in the obscurity. But he always found her, for his love for her burned in his heart, a bright flame. She gave him the key to his freedom, but he flung it away. He chose his way of life, he wanted to chase her forever. He would never give up. His incessant pursuit fascinated her, ...
The realm of my feasibility struggled itself for a stationed equilibrium
of responsibility and existential credos. The inconsistency of romance
often withdrew
into her absence of silence. Pastness of the present and presentness of
the past along with the absurdity of the future, but the certainty of
death made things more vivid, though with a thin frame of perplexities.
The universalized-self triumphed over the perceived meanings and
languages of humanity. Time was captured within the gargantuan vacuum of
absolute nothingness. Sound was trapped, light was trapped, and
momentum of the entire vicious cycle was trapped within that monstrous
non being of nothingness. Theoretician of mine demanded the theoretical
frameworks and critical edges of every existing being and non being, the
imagination weaved a web of beauty and absurdity of that chaos and
serenity that originated from the absolute nothingness and caused it.
what the fuck did i write?
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