Capricious

33 - Fragments of an Odyssey

"Creativity is intelligence having fun."
- Albert Einstein

Elements of a hundred pasts feeding into a world designed purely by chance. A time to expect nothing, to try anything, to appreciate everything. I just let the world flow around me, and type whatever I see.

Flowery leggings outrageously quaint, a strand of bubblegum pink, can such a thing truly be fair play?

A strikingly exotic cotton dress, sharp reds turning heads, enriched with a blending of orange, purple and blue, she turns those deep brown eyes to me.

She sits alone, toying with her straw. Face solemn, cloaked barely in white, across from me. Catching my eye too often. A simple cuteness, honey hair ringed around her ears. No reason I can think, so I watch her butterfly away.

Friendship and love like a spectrum of coloured liquids harmless in their own eclipse, a giant pool of infinite connections bright and unyielding, glowing in the shyness of the sun.

Collapsing into the window seat. In wanders such beauty it reaches inside and steals my dignity from under me. Losing control just so my eyes can taste something so graciously delectable, losing sanity just to absorb such a soft featured being, so casually and emphatically drawing in my fragile desire, and turning me into useless matter. Too perfect to be real, hunched over so elegantly, my heart expanding, crushing my organs to make room for a siege I'm destined to lose. Resonating through my comparably sullen collaboration that such a thing may slight my journey and break my spirit. I forget to breathe, to beat, to be, just devoted to her. It is nothing I know to fall for a reflection and nothing else, to do nothing but stand by, but it is futile. I see a world of beauty astray, slipping past through her time. Her symmetry, her balance, her enriching dress of chestnut hair, scarlet lips, denim shorts pulled so high to carry such strikingly creamy satisfaction. It's killing me on every front. How can something so soft be so rough on me? Departing with a knowing smile playing upon her lips, fading into the wind. I should have escaped my crackling mind to reach out for her. Now she is lost to me. Now my chest has been mutilated by furious attempts to escape my body and run after her. Now I'll never see her face again.

Paddling a ball to and fro, lovers reading in the sunlight, guys wrestling so fair. Chilling in the park for fuck else to do. People sprayed across the open plain, to talk and drink and play the day away. In grand groups or solitary stardom, out at the least. Somersaulting squirrels sucking on strawberries. Never charting the same marsh twice, but a chance to return with company under a different banner, if I know it to be the best shout.

Cloaked in eastern patterns resembling the Castilian art I am so enjoying for a spur. Earphones and a pen her tools for a solitary affair. The bends of her face reminding me of a failed crush of long ago, yet this time with a brilliance of lush chameleon hair, changing colour with the light. Sharp, teal, and oh so unreal.

Ripe and exquisitely virtuous sin, striking a taste on pale legs so thin.

I love being so random, so much more does present itself to me, and every moment becomes so much more exciting.

I close my eyes to hide from their attraction, and yet my desire remains unchanged. There's something in her voice, the song she sings when she speaks, the excitement in all she says. Is it her choice of words, her regional slight? The speed or pitch or melody? How can she sound so good? I dream of whispers in my ear, of hypothetical crazy conversations, of moaning on top of me. That laugh that brings joy to my stone, calm to my mind, warmth to my blood. It thrills my magnetic attraction to her, my body pulled closer, my breath stolen from me. What am I to do? I open my eyes and find my mind setting aside any impairment a more pretentious me may have. Bouncing through life as busy as a bee, loving every minute, shining so very bright. I want to taste her, hold her, savour her; to make her laugh and cum and look longingly into me. My fingers in her mouth, my tongue against her clit, my body mixed with hers. Is it lonely lust, or an opportunity to enjoy quite like any other?

I need to slow my pace, a rush I seem to be in as I take on more and more, but to improve a single skill means I am losing out on all others. Completely falling into my current task with a mind falling for another. Self-control and efficiency I may have, yet I am losing out on possibility to cover my future with the known, I dare not leave commitment for chaos. So I miss out on things I want, never realising my faults until the chance has departed. Every missed chance with no effort at all is destroying potential worlds worse than I could ever know, with only chance or a dive to save it now. Still I dream what can't come true, only because I dream and do not drive. Need there be a reason? I just need to slow things down.

There is little point in comparing yourself to others, you do not know their story, how easy or hard it is for them, what they sacrifice to be so. The only person you should compare yourself against is yourself.

Those that remain who they are, whoever they surround themselves with, they are the most true. They need not recreate themselves to blend into the herd, they are who they are, never biased or twisted or wrong. Pure, passionate, sincere and beautiful.

Everything is a spectrum, it's never black or white. Homosexuality,autism, intelligence, friendship, depression. We attempt to categorise in orderto understand, yet we distort the whole idea. Eventually this leads toprejudice, to taking sides, to disparity and hate, instead of realising we'reall the same. We are all apart from it. Categorising makes us afraid, afraid ofhaving to choose a side instead of being able to simply lie as we be, keepingus from who we really are. We war over nothing. We're all a little fucked. It'sonly natural after all.