This's Been On Repeat Too Long

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Freedom's never expressed much but the idea of having nothing left to worry about, and the real entranced state of the ability of being.

Submitted: October 23, 2012

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Submitted: October 23, 2012

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We've been conducting this orchestration of our lives in the offbeat tempo that's kept us stepping out of our lives and into the ideas we've been sharing with others since we'd realized we were able to express something.  The expressionless face that so many wear seems too daunting in the crowds we face; you know they're dead.  They've seen our white light coming down the hall towards them long before they'd ever heard the truly symphonic sounding of our feet stepping into the waves; they're waving down another way out of here, and failing.  There's no escape from this; you're bound to your fate.Anytime it's come into the mind frame that we've been talking to ourselves about at night, we're fulfilling this ideal that we'd created out of empathy.  There was our symphony, our orchestra keeping their parts to themselves, and us, still conducting this masterpiece.

You drew another picture in your book today and filled it with every bit of your heart as you fuddled with the idea that there was some perfection to be reached in your chest.  I knew your heart was still beating, I heard it on the floorboards you'd slept on that night, while I worked out the whole section to be readied for their pieces of this puzzle.  There was no telling whether or not you'd ever realize I knew the secrets you were letting haunt your heart, but it told me on the wooden palace we marched on that day.  They would all soon hear the alkaline depths that we were working out in our heads, but there was no reason to fret too much over it for the time being; you'd come to know too much as I began just learning the basis this was all basing itself around.  I shuddered at the wholeness of the idea and began contemplating whether or not to approach it from a rationalist viewpoint or to just accept it.

Again, we returned ourselves to the idea that this was truly something that would be heard in a concert hall as we approached the time for them all to ignore the attempts at reinforcing their own ideals.  They'd see soon enough we'd been over thinking every aspect of this, and that we'd figured out the entirety of the game that was being played with dice behind our eyes.  There was no point to point out anything to ourselves anymore, and so we wrote it through slight notations on the lines we'd been drawing out on each piece of paper we could find.  We knew that somebody would've had the sense to put them all together as we scattered bits and pieces of ourselves throughout the scraps, but there was no point for them to even try.  

If you allow yourself to be puzzled, you're only putting everything to a jigsaw and cutting it apart at odd angles.  Keep it together.


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