This Is AGES OLD But It Exists - Blog Posts

* 𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑 , 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 .

@epokhas ( kazuhira ) sent bitter love to the sis.

𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 , 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 : the act of peeling oranges for someone, the act of consideration for her, but the orange was not quite ripe, and its flavor, sour. this abstract and calloused kind of adoration, peppered with your passionate protection, wrapping around its embittered nexus, it grew with time. paradoxically. it reminded her of oceanic love, old and containing all its abominations, making room for more unlovable monsters. sulfur, gun-powder, the phlebotomy of oils and fossil fuels spilled into each tide promising its back and forth, machismo in its ebbs, the flow of empty-carved flatteries. pollution propped up each huff and puff from your pouting mouth. a pouting mouth that did not articulate what it meant. it just sighed for your false messiah and the heavens fell mute to his self-fulfilling prophecy. self-imposing, self-mongering, like any other repetitive promise delivered by fallacious prophets. ‘ but it is alright. ’ her musings withered to a whisper. the flutter of her lashes and lax shape of her brows brimmed with an exhausted patience. it was deathless almost, dead and undead, a worn anchor settled within a bottomless puddle of liquid tar. tar that oozed from the throat, choking on its nightmares, on the rot of eaten snakes, on the smoke sucked from another's lung.  ‘ i am just as crude inside ’ you were not blind to her ugly, unsalvageable interiors, the thing she carried within. the thing that dried all her tears, all her humanness twisting to a deformed organ. removable when dysfunctional. it was a thing not dissimilar from that which you stubbornly refused to extract. but with its festering could come collapse. she must not forget the frail ripples of the sea, how the slightest shake could make or break it.  “ i wish i could take your pain sometimes. your bitterness. i know you wouldn't forgive me if i did. but you have not forgiven me for other things, so it would make little difference. " her hand, emitting unwanted comfort, rested upon your clenched fist. cruel tenderness irritated upon the fuss. she did not mind how rough it was against her mellow touch. it was still old love. oceanic, salty and bitter. weathered smooth by its clashing waves. it was still the peeling of oranges. " i'm sorry. i always say something inappropriate, don't i ? " some shred of your bitterness must have rubbed off on me.