The Illusion Of Spark

I swore I'd never look...again...in the same way. The past is the past is the past. On and on it goes...to the back of the line. Forever there.

I glance a little glance that way with a bit of disgust. You're not going to get me. The pattern is dead and buried. Or so I thought.

It's just a spark, a spark of light. How bad could it be? It's light! Now my guard is down. That wasn't supposed to happen. The spark let my guard down. How is that my fault?

It's a reminder...a reminder, it was never over. It was only ever at the back of the line. I misjudged. I misinterpreted. Forever became finite!

Let this cycle burn in its usual way. He's not going to get me. 

Life is finite. Man is weak. Because his heart is weak. What hope is there...for man? He's a fool. I'm a fool. We are all fools.

I want more.

I want what was promised and denied to me.

Pops of colour are the only eternal. They come, give bursts of bliss, and there they remain...on canvas. Imprinted on my psyche. They're bursts of joy in time, that leave an impression. For me, it's the only real meaning there is.

If I can capture what's in the imagination, on paper, I'll be who I've always wanted to be...the figure behind the veil...where beauty resides. Real beauty.

Sensuality is the vehicle.

Words are vehicles, too.

I'm the sea. I'm the moon. They'll swim in my ocean but never touch me. They'll gaze at the moon and never reach me, never see me. 

So I'll play the way I play. Because more than that, there really is nothing.