Weighted Horizon

What allows us to fix our eyes firmly on the horizon despite the illogical, mind numbing pain of existence, the laborious process of breathing? Heaven and hell are barely deterents as the threat of either are pale reflections of our own ineptitude, our own inability to seek wholeness on earth in the here and the now. This world, however, is breathtaking: both negatively and positively. It’s true, the pressure of our surroundings can be exhausting with the steam wilting our lives, our souls. But its the humidity that keeps our gaze uplifted, looking onward albeit with slight immobility.

He is that cool breeze that lulls me in chaos of those hot, hot Los Angeles nights. The dew on my lips, the gauze over my lids: the thick black molases that highlights the softest of my edges, sludged into the recesses of my fears and insecurities and affording me sweet respite. In his pain I hear the tender hum of clarity: my counterweight, my palindrome. He is beautiful, he is rare and he is also not mine to love. He is the orbit I’ve sought my entire life, but I’m still a sphere amongst myself unable to be leashed.

Infinite octaves of aesthetics and density, rapidity and light, serenity and delineation- unbridled, complex, and replete with the brevity of disdain.

His heritage, his heart, his singular allegorical gaze will forever hold me. It’s the way he moves with a self conscious, humble precision and an ebuillient two-step charge. It’s the simple integrity of the ink that claims his skin. Most importantly, it’s the way he is able to know me merely by knowing himself.