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- sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ
⠀
She is unseen.
She is beyond your senses – nothing, and also everything. Did anything really matter all this time, other than her?
She is a force, a feeling. Your eyes cannot see the ripples of her wake out here in the maw of your past, and yet, her course through its still and stagnant culture will compel it to change and evolve for lifetimes after you're gone.
She is inevitable. An undeniable truth, an indelible fact propelled eternally forward with unmoving resolve that wields more power and purpose than you could even fathom, let alone dream of wielding. Dust glimmers in her shadow, sticking to shards of memories that sail inside the pull of her orbit. They are the only things left of those that came before. Others watch over what will unfold across the canvas we share, silent and solemn. They know the futility in denying her. Why struggle and fret when fate holds you so close to her breast? Her promise is a comfort, they whisper, and if you could hear it you would know it's true, and the shame of it would burn in your throat.
She is grace, and is gracious. Her beauty is frightful. She bears down upon you in complete obscurity, and it's a mercy for the sweet and blissful ignorance in which you amble through your last days. Do you wish it was different? Do you want to know her face, and revel in her wonder? Just for the small chance that she may look back, and know your face in kind, and at least you'd have that to cling to in your submission, in your assured destruction.
She is here. You don't know if she saw you, but –
She is the last thing that you see.
She is beyond your senses – nothing, and also everything. Did anything really matter all this time, other than her?
She is a force, a feeling. Your eyes cannot see the ripples of her wake out here in the maw of your past, and yet, her course through its still and stagnant culture will compel it to change and evolve for lifetimes after you're gone.
She is inevitable. An undeniable truth, an indelible fact propelled eternally forward with unmoving resolve that wields more power and purpose than you could even fathom, let alone dream of wielding. Dust glimmers in her shadow, sticking to shards of memories that sail inside the pull of her orbit. They are the only things left of those that came before. Others watch over what will unfold across the canvas we share, silent and solemn. They know the futility in denying her. Why struggle and fret when fate holds you so close to her breast? Her promise is a comfort, they whisper, and if you could hear it you would know it's true, and the shame of it would burn in your throat.
She is grace, and is gracious. Her beauty is frightful. She bears down upon you in complete obscurity, and it's a mercy for the sweet and blissful ignorance in which you amble through your last days. Do you wish it was different? Do you want to know her face, and revel in her wonder? Just for the small chance that she may look back, and know your face in kind, and at least you'd have that to cling to in your submission, in your assured destruction.
She is here. You don't know if she saw you, but –
She is the last thing that you see.
⠀
artist: Other Peter
She is unseen.
She is beyond your senses – nothing, and also everything. Did anything really matter all this time, other than her?
She is a force, a feeling. Your eyes cannot see the ripples of her wake out here in the maw of your past, and yet, her course through its still and stagnant culture will compel it to change and evolve for lifetimes after you're gone. Dust glimmers in her shadow, sticking to shards of memories that sail inside the pull of her orbit. They are the only things left of those that came before.
She is inevitable. An undeniable truth, an indelible fact propelled eternally forward with unmoving resolve that wields more power and purpose than you could even fathom, let alone dream of wielding. Others watch over what will unfold across the canvas we share, silent and solemn. They know the futility in denying her. Why struggle and fret when fate holds you so close to her breast? Her promise is a comfort, they whisper, and if you could hear it you would know it's true, and the shame of it would burn in your throat.
She is grace, and is gracious. Her beauty is frightful. She bears down upon you in complete obscurity, and it's a mercy for the sweet and blissful ignorance in which you amble through your last days. Do you wish it was different? Do you want to know her face, and revel in her wonder? Just for the small chance that she may look back, and know your face in kind, and at least you'd have that to cling to in your submission, in your assured destruction.
She is here. You don't know if she saw you, but –
She is the last thing that you see.
She is beyond your senses – nothing, and also everything. Did anything really matter all this time, other than her?
She is a force, a feeling. Your eyes cannot see the ripples of her wake out here in the maw of your past, and yet, her course through its still and stagnant culture will compel it to change and evolve for lifetimes after you're gone. Dust glimmers in her shadow, sticking to shards of memories that sail inside the pull of her orbit. They are the only things left of those that came before.
She is inevitable. An undeniable truth, an indelible fact propelled eternally forward with unmoving resolve that wields more power and purpose than you could even fathom, let alone dream of wielding. Others watch over what will unfold across the canvas we share, silent and solemn. They know the futility in denying her. Why struggle and fret when fate holds you so close to her breast? Her promise is a comfort, they whisper, and if you could hear it you would know it's true, and the shame of it would burn in your throat.
She is grace, and is gracious. Her beauty is frightful. She bears down upon you in complete obscurity, and it's a mercy for the sweet and blissful ignorance in which you amble through your last days. Do you wish it was different? Do you want to know her face, and revel in her wonder? Just for the small chance that she may look back, and know your face in kind, and at least you'd have that to cling to in your submission, in your assured destruction.
She is here. You don't know if she saw you, but –
She is the last thing that you see.
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