An old tale of romantic nature existed long before all romance, In it dialogues went as such:
Love
: when the final ring sounds, the voice of despair echos so beautifully through the ether until you pick up to hear hope whispers: "hello I'm still here".
Darkness: it seeps through exposing emotions in actions, it overshadows the stoicism within. it finds ways to torment the quiet heart, belittling the dangers around. it seeps through and it only shows to you only you ... it is my curse of kindness.
Life: you find a door you recognise to be the door that hides all your desires, you can't unlock it because the key is long gone. do you break it open ? do you beg for its key ? do you walk away ?
Darkness function as one wishes to the voices in the background can't scare you anymore, for what they say is abnormal, function as the reality you run to when rejection is at the door, function as a lost child in a dark alleyway looking for a lighter, function as the heavy head carrying tin foil, function as the epic hero of blocked poetry, function as a one run on sentence not caring about structure function as my one and only fool's at you and true.
Love: foolish in your approach you become a scribble, a deleted name, an old nothing lost to memory. You start out as connected puzzle pieces separated by time and space, now you are broken you fit nowhere, however hope remains to be found in the cracks of the world. so what will you do?
Life: perfection; an oversimplified institution. lies told to oneself in ones private hours. prisoners of the green term. begin a new chapter of old songs . hum to the fractured voice of hope. begin a new story , become perfect, become hers.
Lovers:Yourlifebranchesouttoreality thenrealitythenreality,itbecomes freakish,unbelievable,unstoppable,you loseandlosethenwinandwin,allthewhile thesimpleleaffliesthroughinsanity reachingobligations.
Life: Lights strike red, a long covered court behind doors of each sort . everything i wrote held a being as the truth, a being of delight and a clear sight. it is unfathomable to the eye which door holds fire which holds desire. becoming untethered in in this hallway of lights, I shine as the true darkness you have to fight. becoming me was a choice made long ago, becoming the poet was the results of being you.
Love mockingly: "you're jumbled , you become scribbles, you're scattered, you become art".
Darkness: held in this mess is everything, and in begging to become everything I escaped, i became the fragments i so desperately seek. I saw the true face of my symbols, i became a nullified existence, I is the i that held your eye in perfect structure.
the world is lucky to hold you. a world atop a world, becoming human exiting the informal to seek advantage , i am no longer here, i am there , only there.
The author: finalising fragmentation, romanticising explanations, starting starvation.
in each page turned i run further from this. my world no longer makes sense, my facts no longer linger, my strength is fleeting, my heart is shackled, my mind is screaming... I'm human I am human...
atop this final page exists truths long-lost:
1. Roses bloom after days of doom and gloom.
2. You can't define humanity you however can live it.
3. The flowers do not follow the sun, the sun drags them to him.
4. Forget this poem it's illogical.
As such, Our story of confusion ends with happiness at the doors of eternity or one hopes it be.
With this the fragments series reached completion.