Had a myth of freedom fooled me?

My lies in June only worsen my long-standing animosity of the Summer sun.
Caution, let me warn you of my decade long history of fearing my own potential.

Here’s/Hears Proof?

Small homes. The walls are wet and adorned with fresh paint garnished with chalk and blades of glass. Ad nauseam lectures from a mother, I’m so tired of seeing R-

Revolting emotions of mine can be attributed to a quiet accumulation of unspoken thoughts and silent wars waged within myself. Conflicts consisting of some hard knock life brought by manufactured wild flowers and roses. Skirmishes, always seeming to lead to demonstrations of the art of detachment. You wonder if it has to be this way. It’s no wonder you hardly feel pride at all. It’s hard to forget the feeling. It’s easy to move on when forgotten.

You burn enough bridges, the only way to move is forward. It merely costs some sense and a fortune. A family. It’s the price one pays for a certain kind of peace.

Despite the longing for the end of anguish, preconceived notions of abandonment, and the overall dramatization of ones depressive episode, I’ve come across a few good things in my lifetime that bring me nothing but hope

A collective of brave hearts brought upon an adolescent’s upbringing of spirit whose ego decided it was time to grow up.

Harmony withholds mental dissonance, allowing one’s heart to sing along in silence.

HIS pathetic fallacy laughed in the face of limits. SHE taught me stones can be sullen and the sun, peachy.

Spring storms lead to summer showers which lead to petrichor pouring from the flowers below. Observe: Humans, achieving poignant synesthesia by merely existing in time. Your limerence of Spring won’t ever change my affection for a regal Autumn breeze. Let it be then, own your own truth. Verisimilitude.

Forgive my stutter, you know I was never good with words.
I’m sorry I admitted.
I’m sorry I omitted.
I’m sorry you fell in love with a child. I only hope you know it was all real, as real as the dreams I now often have of you.

Dreams.
Dreams of speaking dead languages just to find the words of how happy you made me

laetissima