Untold

sometimes i feel guilty for finding beauty in things that cause others pain. i have this destructive nature when i’m sitting idle and i think we all slip into it sometimes when we’re sitting with someone or alone, thinking to ourselves what we’ve surmised about our life. i tear napkins into tiny squares, folding, crumbling, forming tiny shapes and characters from paper and the sweat from glasses and then tear them up even more until they are no longer capable of being destroyed any further, and i think if the world is ever destroyed in my life time, i hope that we know about it in advance so that i’m able to watch my own destruction and that of everything around me, because sometimes i see everything falling apart, i see so many broken things coalescing in strange and beautiful ways and i just want to rip them all apart, tear them up and have their shattered remnants mingle in ways that let them forget why perfection was ever a dream in the first place. and i want to see them slowly self destruct, see them fragment and fracture, splinter and split and struggle to recompose themselves. sometimes things are more beautiful for all the ways they have been destroyed.

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