autarkeia

one whose tranquility arises from within; serene in and of oneself.

for you, i could forsake fate and embrace a lifetime of pain, were you to reach for my hand but once.

You made me so very strong in both body and soul, but you never give me a task worthy of my strength. Give my life meaning, and I'll be your obedient slave.

God, why have you created me so eternally dissatisfied? So frightened, so bitter? Why must I realize how wretched I am? Why must I suffer so hellishly for my insignificance? If there is a purpose to my suffering, then tell me, so I can bear my pain without complaint. I'm strong.

i want to unleash all my anguish, freeing myself from the little grip sophistication still has on me. i am sorry for myself, sorry to myself. i deserved better. and yet, i am sorry— i couldn't do much for you. i am sorry, i am sorry for you. i am sorry to you.

my eyes ache for rest, they have seen enough.

vacuity claimed my heart, again.

an ardor gap cannot be filled by any amount of proximity fed.

are you ever so turned on, but not for another's touch—for the symphony of music whispering in your ears while the thoughts perform the perfect classical duet?

The Sly Weather.

with projection and the soul’s individual journey at play, i will dare not taint your feelings by naming them. therefore, speak. speak, touch, make sounds, screech my psyche, bellow in anger—do all that makes you two from me, and let me learn you then: the language of your ardor.

i desire articulate precision in all forms of communion. i do read your eyes, yet how may i be certain that what i behold within them is not my own reflection gazing back at me?

moving in space with minimum space and maximum joy.

Echoes of Touch?

you possess an undeniable allure, sure, but she gets my heart aroused.