the cusp of freedom

I am torn between hating humanity and people and everything that society stands for, and loving what humans quintessentially are.

Usually, the world to me is full of colour; trees, and words, and the wind, and gravestones and gutters and pillars and rivers and boats and stars. They're all vibrant. Shouting with colour. They're unique and inspiring and beautiful and it makes youw ant to never stop moving. To never stop looking around you as fast as you can, in a rush, never stopping, never breathing, just taking it all in because there is so much and you are so little.
Sometimes, the world is a hub of activity and vitality. It is alive.
And it is the people, and the stupidity and carelessness and uselessness and irrelevance of people — of wars and actions and emotions and stories and bitten lips and salaries and holidays and fingers — that dim the colour. That mask the shine
Yes, it is humanity and myself that are the stain that you must ignore, that you must pretend not to see and look through to truly appreciate the world. To appreciate what 'life' should giv eyou. Or what you should take from it. Not sure.

And then, there are days like today.
Or... there is now. And ther ewill be tomorrow.
There are days when life is grey, and colourless, because it's all just the same, and it is you and me and pain and love and death and tears and laughter that are the paint on the canvas.

It is the change in your motions as you go from child to victim to killer to spectator to the hero of your tale —— that serves as beauty. Or... it becomes the only thing that matters.

I am torn between hating, and loving.
I do both. I understand neither.

 But after learning that against a background as busy and plain and distracting and ignorable as what is, the only thing that stands out to me as important — as important — are people. That is what matters. I care not for the redness of a leaf if there is someone beside to watch it fall.

And now, with hindsight, I wonder if an underlying obsession with the fragility of emotion is what allowed— enabled me... to try, for a bit, to ignore it.

There is a thin line between love and hate.


(nonsensical prose brought about after reading The Nietzsche Classes.)

moody-broody air around you

" You were just so easy to pretend to hate.
'Cause you're arrogant and rude and your smirk heats me up, and everyone thought I couldn't stand you. And you'd always look down on me with that skeptical look of yours, raising your eyebrow and grinning like you own the place, and I don't think anyone could have really guessed.
                                                                       (...that I kind of liked it.)
                                                                                    So I'll keep on faking glares, feigning eyerolls, and pretending that I don't wanna jump your bones (oh, did I just say that?) and I hope you never lose that moody-broody air around you
             because I really love breathing it in.
And who knows? Maybe one day (today?) you'll stare at me for a moment too long,
and realise that you want me to want you as well. xoxo "

(laxus and mirajane)