Jun 4
Even as I chase an ideal life, I'm never satisfied when I get a taste of it. Denial always enthralls me as I consummate my next ideal, taking root at my very core as I orchestrate a hollow foreplay. I avoid looking it in the eye, make its worth known as I claim my share — a sliver of a spark, a mockery I learned from Gods. And then, I abandon it in one of the many rooms I claim to not know of. Occasionally, I'd revisit, tell it with a scowl, the utter displeasure it caused me once, then demand another spark from the dampened fire. It gives in, sometimes. The other times, I make sure to narrate its insufficiency everytime I indulge with another.
