24. Even the wind changes..

lonely-little-hop-scotch-girl

..the problem is, Dear, that I don’t exactly care about the wind.

Some would say it is cruel, though personally, I find it more curious.
I have always been an internal creature.
Capable of analyzing, defining, or simply ignoring what wasn’t something to indulge the flippancy of my mundane musings.

To return to the thought in which I began, I find it fascinating, that someone can so intricately rearrange the designs of a person. Only to leave the freshest design a mess. To be a little more clear, Mr. Mis[s]ter has taken a step back, and though we still communicate as friends.. it is lacking. The pieces in which he so delicately altered, and shifted to allow for a bit of breathing room for the devilish p[u]r-fection within.. have all but been left in a discarded arrangement that makes no sense. Even to me.. and I’m capable of seeing something in nearly nothing, always.

It doesn’t bother me, so much as it leaves me tilting my head (ever so slightly to the right, which is habit). I know that within the darkness of my eyes is a flicker of question, yet, I simply don’t care enough to let them be fleshed from the tip of my thought process.

Will I be his? Probably not.
Will this bother me? I doubt such.
Do I believe there may be some portion of myself which is too deeply cut, to be sewn back together in normalcy? Aye, I actually do.

All things will be cast into the tendrils of light, eventually, and this shall be no different. For now, I will continue in my exploration of enjoyment for what has been awakened. It is not often I allow my nature to come forth, and I don’t rightly feel like caging it again. Not yet. Not yet..

The comfortable path has never been my chosen way of things.
It never shall.

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