merdenoms
History is irrelevant, as is time itself. When time continues to spin onward forever into the unseen dawn, what difference does it make what happened in the past? Just as it doesn't matter what will happen in the future. History should not be recorded, as the same mistakes are made regardless. Time is an irrelevant thought.
such an intense feeling, almost of no other name. I can feel it coursing through my body, but unlike anger and violence, it is not untamed. It's as if it resonates in the mind as well. A well thought out anger, and a fueled one as well. This is what is needed to combat our demons.
I've often thought there was a very close relation to living beings and the cells within them. The societies we build are just greater examples of the functioning systems in which cells run. The earth is the body, the roads arteries, cities organs, and we...we're the cells.
He is of the belief that when death comes, all will be forgotten. All will be remembered. And all will be forgiven. The father of us all, the immaculate time keeper, has just the same answers as we do. And in that way, we are the same. It is time to remember.
I wonder how she can do this to me. A constant wonder as to how she can give me false hopes with true feelings, and then deny them altogether. It's complete and utter bullshit, and a complete wonder to me.
He sprinted towards the train, which was speeding away and just beyond his grip. As he threw his baggage aboard, he could hear the huffing of another man, just behind him. He must have missed his train as well.
As we came in to the station, I recognized a face I'd not seen in twenty years. She was standing next to the light pole, all dressed in black. A tan jacket to help. And as she puffed her dark cigarette, all manners of memories came back in a slur.
I embraced her with my whole being. The two of us slowly but surely became one, and in the end it was not a formation, but a reconstruction. A return to the original self.
My Beloved, how I adore you so. You are wondrous, beautiful, and mysterious. If I only knew your identity, these matters might be easier. How I dream of you, my dearly beloved.