Pretty Banalities

• Artist: Kazue-Hime
• Description: This is like a diary entry, and all of it is merely a jumble of thoughts strung together. It is mostly an abstract type of writing so it might be hard to get the gist of it, since most of it sounds like rambling. But it's about a girl who is trying to make sense of the immoral illusion love creates and in the midst of venting out her emotions, she gradually goes from hopeful to nearly crossing the line of cynicism. There are some flower language references that might not make any sense.
• Date: 07/16/2008
• Tags: diary abstract ramblings hope love

Dear December 27th,

The pretty banalities of life drive the unconscious to the brink of graduerized incapacities. And to think I must of done something right to find someone who I scarcely deserve. The song that replays over in my mind isn't of any importance in this mass of irregular dignities. Jealousy isn't something to be dealt, I can't bear the thought of you wanting those blue-eyed companions instead of the honesty that lives inside someone so sweet and indifferent on the ways that you present yourself. It isn't something to end up with, all my inhibitions aren't any of your interest. Are you reminded of the complexity of simplicity? You rearranged my life and fought the existence and definition of the practicality. If any one can make me a better person, you could, but you don't know it. The ignorance is beautiful and you don't know it yet. I don't see the fractured heart's ease. Here's a pansy for you. Pray do make yourself the remembrance of all the embodies the quaint justification. You need it. Fetch'd the sharing of window viewing and the heartless forget-me-not. It is not the meaning and physique of true love for it dies in time. The leaves aren't something to be trifled with. The dewdrops aren't of any significance to the overbearing sun that grates against the unwanted and requited visit. The dying world you're running back to doesn't need you when you neglect the most beautiful of days. Can you smell your death on the sheets? It's maddening how deliberate you seem to be when imposing on such striking terms. The methods you take aren't any more decisive than the open chimney that falters and stifles the starchiness of the lofty air. The desserts and misinterpreted purposes of something so dull isn't enough to entice my instincts alone. The lonely and solitary mischief that you encore is the loathsome antics that scarcely anyone chooses to dictate. The mindless lashings is involuntary---I know and forgiveness isn't something to be light on. The amiable forgiveness is overlooked and casted off toward the delightful grasp of deterred users and to contrite something so malicious may not be the art of second chances.