Even though I haven't seen you in years

yours is a funeral, I'd fly to from anywhere.


I wrote a creative story!


Untitled yo

The riptide pulled her out to sea and I stood there, in the wake, awoken. The water had no colour and the sky only held fury. Her yells were drowned out in the same manner she would be in a matter of hours. No regrets, I told myself. I would walk back to the air strip and sit down; it was only a twelve minute trot. Fishing for the marlin of the ocean of my remorseful thoughts, I found nothing. Only nothing.

No emotion at all, that must mean more than nothing.

But there was going to be a place to lay my head eventually but looking for it would take too long so I’ll rest here. But the ideals that I convey are too much; I’ll make a note of it now.

It’s hot, roasting even. I remember the utopiatic, opiatic state you were in. Maybe I can hate you for that. But if you were to be considered the abuser of the opiates in your utopia, I was the poppy farmer, the diligent hardworking proletariat.

YOU DIDN’T LOOK AT ME THAT WAY…

I was no messiah on your vessel. The ambiguous nature about me was what only kept me around. Confusion was your enemy.

We caste our own class, after all, it was our sanctity. Who were they to stop us? Or even, who were they for us? What a joke it was, but how I wish I didn’t participate in the laughter.

We had no father, no guardian. But that is the least to say that we had no help, we had plenty. My own varied; school was arbitrary in my residence. At least I had meaning to where I was located, you on the other hand. Had nothing to do with anything ever, it’s almost as if when you needed to exist, you did, for your own reasons, your own validations. Maybe if I spurred myself on, likeyouwereableto, I could have superseded my own fate, likeyouwereableto.

But none of that matters, right? All that did was your idea. Of which, I was able to extrapolate my own place, palace in.

A KINGDOM FIT FOR KINGS.

It read. But to no one but us, it didn’t read the same. It singed in the places you folded it, a clear description. Obvious really, almost.

But in searching for your own personal El Dorado, you found a limitation.

I was never informed, but it was apparent as well as hidden, it took a great locksmith to chisel his way through your keep.

Utopia:
not an ocean’s riptide.