i look back at myself and realize i wasn’t the person i was yesterday. my values have changed and maybe i’ve turned the complications into simplicity. nothing matters except beauty. 
if i want to be honest and i wanted you to really know me, i’d tell you listen to the ramblings of robert smith.. 
listening to a letter to elise is like falling in love over and over again.
inspiration like no other, faded frosted green, damp, cold..
like late night drives along empty sideroads, little light on the road, but my hand in your hand and i feel beautiful. or a shine of moonlight on the autumn air, a change of scenery but no feeling change.
tingling sensations through my body, and an overall feeling of happiness- i am content. 
i can see my breath in the air and my fingertips are slowly freezing to the point where everything i touch is numb. harsh, but smooth and simple. complaining about weather conditions and how the appearance of the sky is in sync with my mood, that’s real. 
you could never know me though. i haven’t lived enough to know me. 
for now, i’m simply a letter to elise played on repeat until life feels fiery warm, like magic. 

Meaningless words fill my head. I am a collage of where, why and how. I am in a very dark room. There is no door in nor out and I’m not sure how I ended up here. It’s as simple as that. My eyes squint and adjust to the little light in the room. There are stairs and a window. The rod-iron stairs twist and curl; spiraling into the sealed ceiling. From the fogged over street light outside, I can make out the glowing of the spider webs; wrapped around each stair in the most knotted and complicated way. The streetlight reflects onto the webs and I stare at the home of the spiders I cannot see. I resist stepping closer to get a better glimpse of the oddly beautiful webs. I think there is a tree outside, but the rain is free-falling gorgeously. I’m not sure if it’s simply the rain making the rumbling outside, or the leaves swaying in the wind. I hear a screech in the sky and illuminating light flies through the window. Rain falls hard against the window, my ears are filled with the pounding thud of angry rain drops hitting the glass. My mind tries to focus. But I squeeze my eyes shut before my mind starts playing tricks on me. There are no eery shadows outside. I am alone. The only footsteps I hear are my own. The steps I hear are in sync with my heart beating. One deep breath and I continue scanning the room. There are candles in each corner, burning away incandescently. They outline the barriers of the room and fear sets in when I realize that the walls are much closer together than they original appeared to be. In the middle of the room, atop the cold marble floor is a bouquet of month old roses, and with each rush of the wind passing through, it quivers against the dead plant, and tiny pieces of baby’s breath and rose petals flutter to the floor. They bleed against the dripping window. I can’t help but marvel at the beauty of watching the colours swirl around the floor while the thunder rages outside. It’s almost as if the sky is angry that the colours are infusing together into one. I curl up underneath the window while the electrifying lightning brilliantly kisses my skin. Cool rain drops drip down my neck getting stuck in the crease by my collarbone. I do not dare to wipe them away. My body feels peacefully in tune with nature and for once, I feel beauty in the most raw way.

i have that feeling.
that feeling where your mind clouds over with the illuminating warmth of
harsh orange against the soft safety of
melodies and lyrics.
crushed fingers against piano keys
entwined beautifully through the
ups and downs
of calloused finger tips playing acoustic guitar.
closing eyelids fluttering against note after note of
raw, innocent
butterfly wings of beauty.
tangled teardrops of simplicity;
happiness in
burnt orange.

—
written because of this song.