Like a smashed glass strewn out across the laquered nightfloor, stars shine their scattered light through time and space.
She does not paint within the lines and crosses the room, spirit elevated by the arch of her shoes, both seeing and oblivious to the established order. Crushing the glass under her foot, she makes her way to the bar. Her dress is patterned by impressions from her travels and is pressed firmly by her confident flesh.
She takes a bottle without hesitation - immediately knowing the one amidst many for her and fills a new glass half-full with liquor.
Her mind like a hive of bees, or scattered light held in communion yet never coalescing. The beauty of the dance is between the distance and the intimacy. Hints of attraction and hints of self-containment. A chemical mystery chimes with fresh reactions, novel equations.
Time calls with its incessant distractions, yet she can't be stirred from her own presence, eternity flowing through the sequence of life. A series of steps, beyond notions of grace and free-will, just perpetual becoming, in love with the process.
A voice calls from the shadows. Familiar yet not quite hitting a note of recognition for her. She turns with an open anticipation and meets his gaze.
Their souls have journeyed, like scattered light, through multiple forms, and this time, this meeting, may have been the most recent in a catalogue of many. How would they ever know? What is difference anyway? And what is repetition?
Moments in love. Conversations across boundaries. Exchanges of information for pure delight.
Now - they meet on a floor of broken glass, just whispers and murmurs. Gentle touches and stolen kisses.
Scattered light sometimes exceeds its distributed waywardness and rejoices in collaborations of movement. Meetings of uniqueness. Words of reconciliation.
Reveling in the beauty of random arrangements, scattered light flickers gleefully amidst the shadows.
She does not paint within the lines and crosses the room, spirit elevated by the arch of her shoes, both seeing and oblivious to the established order. Crushing the glass under her foot, she makes her way to the bar. Her dress is patterned by impressions from her travels and is pressed firmly by her confident flesh.
She takes a bottle without hesitation - immediately knowing the one amidst many for her and fills a new glass half-full with liquor.
Her mind like a hive of bees, or scattered light held in communion yet never coalescing. The beauty of the dance is between the distance and the intimacy. Hints of attraction and hints of self-containment. A chemical mystery chimes with fresh reactions, novel equations.
Time calls with its incessant distractions, yet she can't be stirred from her own presence, eternity flowing through the sequence of life. A series of steps, beyond notions of grace and free-will, just perpetual becoming, in love with the process.
A voice calls from the shadows. Familiar yet not quite hitting a note of recognition for her. She turns with an open anticipation and meets his gaze.
Their souls have journeyed, like scattered light, through multiple forms, and this time, this meeting, may have been the most recent in a catalogue of many. How would they ever know? What is difference anyway? And what is repetition?
Moments in love. Conversations across boundaries. Exchanges of information for pure delight.
Now - they meet on a floor of broken glass, just whispers and murmurs. Gentle touches and stolen kisses.
Scattered light sometimes exceeds its distributed waywardness and rejoices in collaborations of movement. Meetings of uniqueness. Words of reconciliation.
Reveling in the beauty of random arrangements, scattered light flickers gleefully amidst the shadows.
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