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31_days2012-07-05 10:32 pm
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-05 10:32 pm
5 July - Original - Her Reality.
Title: Her Reality.
Day/Theme: July 5 – “Any particular style, make or cut.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: She knew that she was cold and unfeeling, but deep down it wasn't the case..
She wonders how exactly or why exactly she holds herself so still, as if she waits for something untenable to happen. Its not something that she can explain easily, and its nothing to do with reading between the lines to understand what she is driving at, its the wall that stops her from reaching in and unleashing it all. Its that moment that everything rides on tip of tongue and sleight of hand that very second before she pulls back, to demonstrate what she really means.
All things are split up into compartments, safely away from others so as not to merge, blend to suffuse with colour. Its how things had been done in every instance of her life, compartmentalise, separate, devoid of all emotional feeling for things, looking at them like the objects they are.
The painting holds itself motionless hidden in the shadows, she imagines, that when asleep worlds come awake. She imagines that everything over there is varying shades of purple grass, she doesn't get further than that, just those purple grasses, that reality painted green and the words have always failed her.
Or was it just that if she had spoken, it would be to realise some deep truth, to express such deep thoughts, and to those deep thoughts is to sully with reality and grime and dust.
Day/Theme: July 5 – “Any particular style, make or cut.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: She knew that she was cold and unfeeling, but deep down it wasn't the case..
She wonders how exactly or why exactly she holds herself so still, as if she waits for something untenable to happen. Its not something that she can explain easily, and its nothing to do with reading between the lines to understand what she is driving at, its the wall that stops her from reaching in and unleashing it all. Its that moment that everything rides on tip of tongue and sleight of hand that very second before she pulls back, to demonstrate what she really means.
All things are split up into compartments, safely away from others so as not to merge, blend to suffuse with colour. Its how things had been done in every instance of her life, compartmentalise, separate, devoid of all emotional feeling for things, looking at them like the objects they are.
The painting holds itself motionless hidden in the shadows, she imagines, that when asleep worlds come awake. She imagines that everything over there is varying shades of purple grass, she doesn't get further than that, just those purple grasses, that reality painted green and the words have always failed her.
Or was it just that if she had spoken, it would be to realise some deep truth, to express such deep thoughts, and to those deep thoughts is to sully with reality and grime and dust.