Is it me or is it you when I look up at the sky and see myself times two? I am both the common love and the common enemy. Are you ready to be loved by everyone? Are you ready to be hated by everyone?
I truly feel when I fear.
I feel the warmth of the Sun stroking me. I liberated it from the everlasting night comforting us with lights harvested from her dreams. I feel the soul of my lover. It liberated me from the dark feather attached to my fireside. A small detail, yet always noticeable.
I fear the cold’s kinkiness tonight. It bit me in the act of love. I fear the white feather turning into grey, since the black dot of ink dissolved on this very paper of mine. I fear the twilight switching between my white and black feather.
[…] White feather Vol. I : ”Daytime was only curse and torture for me. The black feather was alive, plotting with the Sun against everything I stood for. My lover was never home. My lover was never mine. My lover never was. He did not have a name or a face at daytime, yet I remember every detail of his missing figure. I named him Lilac Grey, that’s when he was real, when the sky shared the same name as him.
[…] Black feather Vol. I: ” Night-time? It’s in the colour of your cheeks! Flourescent prickles disappear after the daytime leaks. I could grow roses from your eyes! What a juvenile Earth I discovered in you. Would you like a message? I grow my seeds on a musical note which goes like this: ”I loved a girl named Julia once, she would hang me up by my own románce”. A French romance, for the rhyme.
[…] White feather Vol. II: ” What’s your favourite number from one to seven? Death. So five it is then!” Lilac Grey was faceless once again, while Icarus has stolen the show with a million-years-away dying star. He drowned in sunlight, the same way I am. Both of us eager to fly, both of us eager to melt away from warnings.
[…] Black feather Vol. II: The number 5 reminds me of you, a virgin soil. Earth has gotten me fascinated and the lady who owns it, well, she got an eager observer under her dust. But even the dreams of the conquerers die in time. The dream of me ever owning you rests with the prickle-scars, that remind me of death. What a beautiful shape does mortality have.
[…] No feather Vol. I: The everlasting beauty lies in the dreams that are so perfect and so beautiful, and therefore they will remain dreams and you will remain real. I enjoyed the prickles you pushed through my cheeks. I am looking for something to feel.