'I wouldn't tell you to do something I wouldn't do..'
She holds it between her fingers. Eyes fixated on the embers. The glowing ash licking the end of the paper. She does not move..Her stomach churns and her head plays a multitude of scenarios in which none end happy. Her hair like tendrils, flutter in the wind.
The lines on her forehead and circles underneath her eyes were once foreigners... Now they are settlers.
Her hands hold her legs to her chest. She feels asphyxiated as she cradles in her bed. Within her blankets, she still feels the tendrils of despai(more)r molest the bottom of her toes. Slowly they creep and caress the insides of her calves, then thighs before a cry of despair escapes her lungs. All she can see is the chilled cloud of her breath. Further up it crawls, swallowing her torso in a decaying poison, leaving her paralyzed. She claws at her chest, hoping to tear away at the rot only to find her hands no longer listen. Her eyes dart back and forth, scanning the darkness of her room comfort. There's a crack of light from the bottom of her bedroom door.
She yells but her voice is muffled. She is suffocating now, her eyes roll back...
Ingrown toe nails. Ingrown bacteria. Ingrown infections.
Don't leave them unattended. Cut it out. To say he once had a manifestation of ingrown problems, fostered into an illness. Nurtured into a disease which left him emotionally incapacitated. The figurative decapitation of his soul, the center of reason and(more) logic. Word vomit spewing from the carotid artery severed by the brutality of American capitalism. His inability to explain and distinguish passion between practicality led to his handicap. Dismembered legs and hands left him motionless, stagnant. With nothing but a torso, his heart is the last pillar. A flicker of a flame which it once was.
So go forth young man. Go forth unto the pursuit of a practicality which extinguishes passion, onto the murderous path in which you will suffer injury, you will break bones and come out the other end a shadow of the man you once were. It is what everyone does. It is what everyone sacrifices. But it also is what everyone regrets. (less)
Is marriage constituted by these verbal vows? Words are easily broken, if such then vows can be easily revoked on the same token. It's an inconceivable thing this marriage, in my eyes, as it can be based on(more) wrong intentions. Be it wed for wealth and power, or in the drunk-haste of the honeymoon phase. My understanding?
Marriage should be based on a DLA criteria:
Development encompasses compatibility but is concentrated on individual growth versus growth together. Does your significant other challenge you as a person and provide not just motivation but insight on reaching your potential. This means they can tell you what you can be and show you what you are right now.
Love is an ambiguous term. I see it as this. If in your daily interactions and activities you come across experiences, moments or instances which remind you of your significant other..that is not love. That is memory association. However say this, you're able expose your vulnerability and experiences which question your identity to your significant other. That is the start of it, because love means trust, honesty, compassion, attraction, a whole list of buzzwords but until you can define what it is the other person provides to your relationship, then you won't know what love is.
Association is the last component, meaning how well does your social interactions mesh with your partners. It means family, friends and co-workers. Every facet of your life in comparison to your partners - where do they fit?
Nothing is 100% but I'd like to say. One day maybe I'll ask for a woman's hand in marriage..and be able to say
In sickness and in health, 'till death do us part. (less)
Dagger drawn from its scabbard. Eyes shut as he dangled the blade in his finger tips. The motley coat hung loose off his shoulders: a canvas of black, powder white, lagoon blue and emerald - colours of winter.
He clicked h(more)is feet together and flicked another dagger at the wench. (Three more were sheathed.) It flew with precise accuracy, true and sure, on a straight trajectory. It plunged underneath her left earlobe and split the table she was roped to. A splinter cut her cheek yet she didn't flinch. Her eyes were fixated on him with the same look of contempt.
In one motion, he unsheathed two blades and juggled them in his hands. He didn't break stare. He unloaded.
Thud. Thud. Right earlobe...Between the legs.
He was displeased. Displeased with her reaction and displeased with his efforts. He took his time with his last blade. Pointed it to the ceiling, ran his fingers down the grooves and pricked himself to feel the icy sting. For five minutes he did this, switched from hand to hand, and felt its weight. He felt the hand-wrapped leather on the rear bolster, before he took aim. He knew where he wanted to land the last blade.
He closed one eye to fix his aim and the blade left his hand bearing for her heart.