All of this Decaying
Still I live
I’ve been having a lot of dreams and the shadow warning of performing it embedding it into this unfortunately-ongoing-reality is an incredibly bold threat (the last time I had a soul-crushing dream was fourteen and at fifteen almost all of it came true). What is true, anyway? My dreams/nightmares/dreams feel more real than the real.
My blood is pumping with vigour and I am alive amidst all of this decaying. In this floating I exude an enchanting beauty in place of my complete wretchedness (perhaps it is silly to believe a hole will ever be anything other than empty). Still, I would rather be this barren this lonesome this tormented because there is always room to lurch for more, to witness the satisfaction of the ages sinking into bones. If I have everything I could ever want, then the wanting would stop. If I am hungry my fingertips reach for the fruits amidst the wheat. If I am full I no longer have the pleasure of cherry heat, of food that barely touches the boil.
On my skin lies carpe diem (it shall fade in a bunch of days), and infinity. Nothing is worth testifying against dust and ash if it does not last, a fleeting feeling in the ribs is easily forgotten if it does not stretch out towards all of time, if it does not outrun it. Now I am alive but when it is time for all of us to decay I will hold onto the soil, because I last, because I will not allow anything I clasp to perish. Such is love.
October, you will be good because I said so.
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Hi there, thank you so much for reading !! Find me on ig for more, if you’d like ;)
Love, Erica x