hay cosas en vida que son para siempre. como tiempo, cambío, y las fantasmas que te sigue. y también, hay cosas que cambias. como los lugares en nuestra corázones, hay ninguna que puede luchar el cambio. esto es la regla de vida. y hay nada más que puedes hacer.
ii. patchwork heart holes come home my ____, do not leave, and let me intertwine my hands in ____ i am only missing what is gone now, ____ name on my tongue, yet still too far away to say now.
summer is gone, along with ____. we are distances, leaps, and bounds far away from eachother. i still wait on our favorite swings in the flower fields.
or, my? my favorite swing. i can't think of the last time someone (forgetting is a plague.) came down to smell the lillies with me.
(it has always been you) who will hold my hand? i yearn for love like romeo but am fleeting amd innocent like juliet. for nobody will come to me, i fear.
how does it feel to be (we are so) far apart? i have never been seperated from something i love; i do not know the bittersweetness of missing.
the black-orange gusts of wind are flying past, seeking the sun onece more. hiding from this perpetual chill that ought to happen.
black-feathered mourners are coming down though, it seems as if they do not leave. they peck at the leftover remains of pumpkins that are missing a candlelight glow.
everything has to leave at some point. in a primitive sense, we are Seeking. all beings Seek, both tangible and imaginary. Seeking is as fundemental as Being; they go hand in hand.
both the gusts of wind and mourners are Seeking, but they leave for what they Seek, shedding the past-beings like corpses to rot. Seeking is future-focused while Being is past-centric.
maybe orange-black and black feathers are both Seeking and Being, and only tapping into the present to remind everybody of how Fleeting things are. Fleeting is present.
i think i am focused on the Being but never on the Fleeting. i am out of touch with the constant movement of life.
Last edited by herb on Sun Oct 27, 2024 2:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
my mother has never been a fearful woman. she has always been outspoken; a real model of what progression means. she outshines the definition of strong-willed.
yet in her everbounding care is a twinge of fear: that we, in our familal structure, will hsve to rip ourselves from our home.
she said it herself, in both fear and panic. "with the way things are looking now, we night have to leave." but leaving is the hardest thing to do. this is why i do not like missing or absence. being without hurts.
she knows this; she knows all these things about life. aged and hardened over time.
but i think she knows that i am afraid of absence. so i hope she realizes that things are not as hopeless as she thinks they are.
maybe i won't have to be missed.
Last edited by herb on Mon Oct 28, 2024 3:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
the fundementals of a function is that one input only equates to one output. and if f(x) = 4x + 2 then f(3) can only be 14.
now functions normally graph and you denote them in interval notation but often only when they're inequalities. like piecewise functions. they get denoted like [2, 10), or (-∞, 9].
but i do not think we (u(i)) pass the vertical line test. we equate to u(i)= 0∞i, so we are infintesimally small, and unfathomable.
and neither us nor our inverse could have worked. the inverse of u(i) is i/0∞, which is worse: undefined. we do not exist.
our intervals are [∞, ∞] which is impossible. we are impossible. i guess this is why we were never solved.
u(i) ≠ w(e), w(e) = e+1 where e <3
w(e) were never fated, so this is why w(e) are now only u(i).
there is no rebirth/no new take on life/no ability to restart/it is impossible/we can only live in our Fleeting/not the Being or Seeking/the Fleeting is all that exists right now/it will be this way for a while/so we shall just have to wait/for an oppritune moment/to recreate an identity/fake it until we make it/make butterfly wings of ash/barren wastelands into frutful oasis/tethered only to the past but not ever to the future/change is the best of us/change gets the best of us
viii. everchanging everhoping hope is the strongest driving force, aside from despair & revenge; it is tangible, existing both in the ebb and flow but the waves and air, it is a butterfly in the wind and a leaf in a stream: it is possibility; the idealization of memory. it, in its ever moving state of Being, is also Fleeting and Seeking. it is present, it has been and will be. like change, but in change there is a sense of irrevocability, but hope, is, well, hopeful. for a lack of a better word, change is changing, it is forever but also finite, it is Being, and Seeking, and now Fleeting. hope and change are different enough to become seperate, but they seem so similar.
viv. summer light, autumn darkness bright blinding rays cast down my face: it is warm here. too warm to be called a home.
i kick up the dirt like it is nothing. its simple existence infuriates me ; it is nothing like me. it is simplistic in nature and the beginning and end.
i hate ends.
i hate knowing that things come to a close. a final being.
autumn is everlasting it grows the cold: an unchanging fact. cold is stoic. it is forever.
