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Your eyes!
Everything started with my unintenional look at your eyes. Was it a destiny? No, that would too simple a word. It felt more like inevitability like the silent, patient gathering of gases in the void, waiting to explode into stars, the kind of stars that illuminate not the heavens, but the soul. When your eyes met mine- ah, what a terrible, beautiful thing! it felt like the world itself stopped revolving around its axis for a century-long moment to mark its significance. My eyes, blind for many falls, were blind out of necessity.I now see, which I think there is no better or worse time. Blind, perhaps, so that when they were finally opened, it would be to this, to you. To call it chance would be an insult; to call it fate would be a simplification. No, it was something greater, something terrifyingly profound.
You draw a contradiction to every story I have ever heard. They speak of love that accepts flaws, that endures imperfections, but such stories fall short of capturing my truth.No flaw or whatever considered to be extra or rather lacking could be found within you. You are like a puzzle with no missing piece. Not that if you had one, i wouldnt afford to accept. More that it is an unforgiveable crime to view you as lacking or as broken: you are the line defining what is being and not being-
writing can be a great hobby
Everything started with my unintenional look at your eyes. Was it a destiny? No, that would too simple a word. It felt more like inevitability like the silent, patient gathering of gases in the void, waiting to explode into stars, the kind of stars that illuminate not the heavens, but the soul. When your eyes met mine- ah, what a terrible, beautiful thing! it felt like the world itself stopped revolving around its axis for a century-long moment to mark its significance. My eyes, blind for many falls, were blind out of necessity.I now see, which I think there is no better or worse time. Blind, perhaps, so that when they were finally opened, it would be to this, to you. To call it chance would be an insult; to call it fate would be a simplification. No, it was something greater, something terrifyingly profound.
You draw a contradiction to every story I have ever heard. They speak of love that accepts flaws, that endures imperfections, but such stories fall short of capturing my truth.No flaw or whatever considered to be extra or rather lacking could be found within you. You are like a puzzle with no missing piece. Not that if you had one, i wouldnt afford to accept. More that it is an unforgiveable crime to view you as lacking or as broken: you are the line defining what is being and not being-
writing can be a great hobby