floating, overflow

The thing about words is, the more you talk, you only leave messy trails of your emotions

She began countless distortions as she was on the verge of falling apart from reaching her limit. The pleasure and peace of meditation scattered and disappeared whenever she would catch a true sight of him. There was a rush of fierce emotions moving alongside his steps and she was bewildered and was utterly in awe to face him.

Ideals built in meditation were only depicting the past.

As she returned to an unfinished story and as she found closure in something she had never even started, all that she believed to be love got her questioning anything and everything. Everything that she used to see the love in, and ecstatic joy, was not hers.

; Did you ever feel this way sometimes?

; I have. I have felt that way before.

She had always believed that love was about pouring one’s heart into the abyss and it was something where heaven and earth were vehemently reversed. It was a feeling that had nothing to do with daily life, thus emotion that grew.

Her calm lips did a good job in keeping her complexity a secret, while she raised and vomited her reasons.

The room in which they were trapped wrapped around them tight as if to make them feel cozy in their wretchedness. Twisted emotions and desires, regret, and feelings of revolt swirled to settle in between the memories.

Unfinished feelings suffocated in repeated deceit while the logic of hypocrisy was established.

To discover the unseen from the existing, to learn about the perceived through the unseen and for the regretful hypocrisy that arose from the sheer arrogance

The thing is, the more you try to explain yourself, the more you leave messy trails of your emotions.