An undefined pursuit for bewildered integrity

There is a sweet, stabbing irony when one needs the suffocating embrace of a loved one most, those who sincerely feel let go to allow intrepid air to all parts of your emotional skin.
You breathe through the pores in your soul’s fabric, make it stretch and warp; then have its colours snap back into solid.

As a young Mary Shelley reads to the gentle rhythm in my brain, I am certain gone-by times were much easier in their own way, and yet the bewilderment of youth casts more shadows to chase those who are not resolved. Not married to the snapshot they create within the moment.

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