Monday, October 29, 2007

Complimentary

The beauty of melancholy can never be seen by anyone but the host of the melancholy. Melancholy is such that it is held inside us, only to sparkle in the true beauty of its essence in pure isolation. No one will ever see or feel the moments I spend while pasta is boiling, smoking cigarettes, drinking red wine, reading the greats and listening to the classics. This perfection in beauty can only crystallize in the utmost isolation, the most perfect moments of loneliness. When I feel most beautiful is when I feel most alone. Sorting photographs and counting the colored leaves, I feel as though the world was designed as a habitat for my longing, for my unwillingness to comply.

2 comments:

Unknown said...

my head is pounding, and my stomach is nauseous from all the philosophy that i have been reading tonight....and writing.
there is a wicked paradox that envelopes your sentiment. but for now i am simply going to say that i think you are wonderful.
and though it only be witnessed by the aether, how profound.

Unknown said...

*and in your writing.