Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning - So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
i will not cut my hair for you, it will hang long and heavy and whisper of long-lost battles in the dead of night, with the stars to witness me alone, the same stars that bend to me and shine for me and my nails will be longer and sharper than claws
(i can claw your heart out and taste blood, how good will it feel then?)
my feet will learn to trace new circles on the ground, that lead to wonders far greater than the temple of you and things of far greater beauty - tight-rooted trees and snow crystals that sting and comfort and paved roads that lead to eternity -
i will learn to love things of substance, and fortify my skin, skin that does not even recall your breathing or the length of your eyelashes or the way the trees grew silent when you walked past
(this is my war hymnal and it is a song of victory)