Live long enough, and you will run across people who alter and primp up the perspectives to which you’ve clutched so dearly. For some, this is a catastrophe! A dire misguidance which will tangle their little panties into a wad far too tight to be unbound by mere desire. For me, it’s something so deliciously enticing that it has spread a bated breath of scattered rays; the land otherwise quite dampened in shadows. So.. what does one do when they find themselves faced with a warmth that seems to splinter? A creation of glistening insecurity that slips beyond the damaging negotiations you’ve long had in good standing? Why, you build a suitable respite from the depths of your own illusions, of course!
In my case, you tear apart the anxieties for which you have become rather well known, and dust them off so that they hang with a little more agreement. You string them up, lacing them in little stitches with the darkest parts of fear, and allow them to pool down along the floor for an added affect of creation. You lay out the tender pieces of your silhouette, brush the dust from the corners where touches have been misled, spread a decadent little arrangement of scents and sights to twist the deviant mind frame into a hardship, and then you rest. Languidly stretching each and every way that is possible, to soak in the pieces of grace with which you know are yours; somehow.
This is my gentility of silence.
Not all days are as black as [my] Wonderland may have you think.