Henri Eugene Delacroix (French, January 16, 1845 – April 26, 1930)
Lady arranging flowers in a landscape, s.d.
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A long farewell
something comforting about warmth and sounds and tea..warm fuzzy feeling. Cambridge i’ll miss you. it hasn’t been easy, but i appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’ve shown me the rocky road of friendship, of adulthood, of socialising and establishing boundaries. Of thinking you’re ready for the world and that one breath you take before you leap. Of how tall buildings can be oppressive but also meditative and how there’s nothing the matter with shooting for the stars, no matter how distant the path seems. How even the most well-meaning of intentions can be thwarted when both hearts are jealous and afraid of pain. And also how a small voice must find its way across the chasm, must note the charred rocks of paranoia and overcome them, in order to be listened to and acknowledged and received. How we all exist in one another’s mind as concepts, as entities, as blurry outlines. This impression is subject to moulding. And no matter how devout the sculptor, it cannot be composed merely of light. you’ve shown me the perils of safety but also its bounty. this one peaceful moment, i can feel yellow warmth stirring beneath my cheekbones, making my eyes drowsy with its might. it is not the stirring of the future or the past, merely the sensation of an utterly contented present. it has all been worth it for this. each experience is sewn into the patchwork web, nothing is deleted or lost. and when raindrops fall all bears its fruit. for i am merely made up of moments, each one as perfect and imperfect as this one. although you have given me much, and much i have been willing to take, i know that my heart cannot rest here, even though in some way, it always will. cycling down a country lane independent of my chest, or the trappings of a mortal body. witnessing the sunset, the juicy blood orange sky.
druidstone
