A lick of feeling whipped off the eddies of my soul. I throw it at the wall, and the pandora bursts, led artfully to create vivid graffiti. My little feeling is an opera centre-stage; majestic, lone, classic. I behold that art of my feeling. And as such perceived, twice removed from the chaos of its origin, moves me, brings me to peace.
(I, perchance, have no right to be feeling x amidst the multitude n of alphabets, so much more grave than x. And yet, here I am with x; my soul craves satisfaction; cringes from lack of attention; yearns for resolution. Locked up with her, I glance into her beautiful deep brown eyes, swirling in and in into her irises. A glance of flame, a pat of inspiration, and here I descend into poetry. Ah poetry, I could dance away the Milky Way with you. Whither have you been.)
[thanks Kana for the comments. i've edited a bit. will rework-repost later.]
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