theyhaveeels
It's often said that fake bait works better than the real deal. Flashier. Like porn. Like supermodels. Like the loud best friend of that one girl who doesn't quite get when they talk about how, no, you cannot hug an entire town together with its streets and buildings.
Never I have ever changed my mind about a thing so much that it doesn't even matter anymore.
*everyone drinks*
In the end, it turned out that your lofty ideals were not so lofty after all - were even logical, practical, _attainable_ - it was too unfortunate that you realized this little fact in the exact moment that you let go of them, and it was, simply, too late.
A girl is sitting on a swing, swinging. She is little, and she's there to swing. What other reason to be there, if not to do that? The canopy of the trees above provides shade, while the rotation of the earth provides wind, though she does not know that. There is a cat a few meters to her left, watching her, has been watching her since she got there, though she does not know that. If she had known, first thing she would think would be "animagus!" but, then again, magic is not real - though she does not know that.
Actually, you don't know that it isn't, either.
Your head does not scale up to your body (or vice-versa), and you die.
Your heart does not scale up to your head (or vice-versa), and you die.
Your life does not scale up to your dreams (or vice-versa), and you die.
You yourself do not scale up to expectations (or vice-versa), and.. yes, you die.
These events are not correlated. Everyone dies.
The ice-cream cone was the bane of the snowman. It scooped up his children, it made them look good - fabulous - but for what price? They were made weak, they were _changed_, according to the tastes of the masses - the fake beauty, all the sauces, the sprinkles, the superficial shine that would last for only a couple minutes - tops - before they would be consumed, relentlessly, and be lost to the world. And yet, many of his children seeked that fate, wanted the glory of being desired, even for a second - the snowman could not reason with them, could not save them, and he cried, and cried, and cried.
Neon lights remind you of nightclubs.
The kind where nice ladies dance. But of course, you have never been in one of them.
The nice ladies remind you of selling favors. But of course, no one ever asked you for one.
Favors remind you of friends, but of course, you have never made one.
Making reminds you of - what was this about? Yes, neon lights.
Neon lights remind you of having so much to drink, they create light-designs when you look about around them too fast. They remind you of that last shitty cocktail before you moved on to the heavier stuff. They remind you of that pretty girl sitting two stools away, looking lonely - looking lonely at you, and they remind you of being too paralyzed to make a move.
But most of all, they remind you of flamingos.
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