Emotion

Empty. It's tumbling sunflowers. The colors are happy, vibrant, trembling with uncontainable excitement, but they've come undone. Gravity beckons, and it's down-to-earth except for the fact that it isn't. Huge drooping heads. The pitter-patter of a cool, late-summer rain. Nothing can be contained now: this is the world, like it or not, for better or worse, more real than reality and it's neverending. It's explosive but subdued, like a fountain, spilling over into itself, reverberations of a single experience and the loneliness of the realization of the singularity. The initial shock was nothing less than shocking. And now an empty absence, a void, surgical removal, how I wish what I miss most could be implanted back into my life. Maybe not wholly: bits and pieces of what was, a pieced-together work, something more material and tangible than only my memories. It's a dark alleyway dead-ending into oblivion. It's the eternal reflection of mirrors bouncing off of each other, it's all of the above. It's beautiful. It's magical. It's terrible. It's powerful. It's indescribable but I still try, and I'll try forever, striving onward to just purge my cross, my mistaken identity. Emotion.