It was written in the book of hours. The whispering of voices within, "Gold, feathers, and jade," they said. One would think that discovering [something] that you have spent most of your grown life searching for would bring a certain type of joy instead of a growing resentment. My simple symbiotic relationship with myself has grown tiresome.
I embrace my flaws. The difference between a dress and a gown depends on the strength of light shimmering from the candelabra. Who believes in the Law of Affinity anyway? Maybe the truth is something different from what I believe. Birds moved over the Everland, no sympathy, dancing in circles, across, around, in/out of the poison tree.
Still there is reason to believe I don't know much, Metaphorical transformations - what color lies? Trust that your blood flows to the present only to return to the place you've always known. Your heart beats wildly, as a comet streaks to some place long before forever began.
A quicksilverthought. There is no splendour of regret.