Word of the Day and Procrastination
Dictionary.com Word of the Day: osmose: to gradually or unconsciously assimilate some principle or object.
...I did not know osmosis had a verb form. The following isn't really a story, but it is what it is.
Hopelessness can fill the air like music. Haunting and catchy, it curls through the ear and lingers there, fogging perceptions and tainting each interaction with its dragging rhythm. It grows and builds, as each one falls, to become an orchestra, a symphony of despair.
No one has to say a word. It passes from quickly averted gaze to quickly averted glance, from one broken heart to another, increases volume with each expression of righteous fury made impotent until it becomes a watchword, the status quo, the song in the back of everyone's mind.
Hope doesn't have it so easy. Hope - the thing with feathers, because it flies - can be elusive, flickering like a flame. Hope needs to be tended, cared for, sheltered and fed. It can warm a single soul against the dark, flare brighter against the wind when it blows. As fire, it exists in smolder, lives in ashes.
And when it burns, it burns brightly. With each raised head, the pulsing life of fire grows. It passes from one parched soul to another like a wildfire, all-consuming; like the first hint of sunlight in a long-awaited dawn, tempting, tempting. It is implacable, irrepressible, ruthless. Hope burns through reason and experience, enlivens weariness, and gives despair its name.
Named, it can be known. Known, it can be defeated.
Raise your head, if you dare the flame.
- fin -
In other news - gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah so much work! And I need to see about my student teaching and forms and jobs and I don't want to do any of it. I want to go and frolic outside in the glorious spring and stay inside and play on the computer all day with make-believe trials being so much more intriguing and fun than messy ones like missed deadlines.
Guess I should... try to get on that, though. Considering what I just wrote and all. Let's see what I can get done before my haircut at three. -_-
...I did not know osmosis had a verb form. The following isn't really a story, but it is what it is.
Hopelessness can fill the air like music. Haunting and catchy, it curls through the ear and lingers there, fogging perceptions and tainting each interaction with its dragging rhythm. It grows and builds, as each one falls, to become an orchestra, a symphony of despair.
No one has to say a word. It passes from quickly averted gaze to quickly averted glance, from one broken heart to another, increases volume with each expression of righteous fury made impotent until it becomes a watchword, the status quo, the song in the back of everyone's mind.
Hope doesn't have it so easy. Hope - the thing with feathers, because it flies - can be elusive, flickering like a flame. Hope needs to be tended, cared for, sheltered and fed. It can warm a single soul against the dark, flare brighter against the wind when it blows. As fire, it exists in smolder, lives in ashes.
And when it burns, it burns brightly. With each raised head, the pulsing life of fire grows. It passes from one parched soul to another like a wildfire, all-consuming; like the first hint of sunlight in a long-awaited dawn, tempting, tempting. It is implacable, irrepressible, ruthless. Hope burns through reason and experience, enlivens weariness, and gives despair its name.
Named, it can be known. Known, it can be defeated.
Raise your head, if you dare the flame.
- fin -
In other news - gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah so much work! And I need to see about my student teaching and forms and jobs and I don't want to do any of it. I want to go and frolic outside in the glorious spring and stay inside and play on the computer all day with make-believe trials being so much more intriguing and fun than messy ones like missed deadlines.
Guess I should... try to get on that, though. Considering what I just wrote and all. Let's see what I can get done before my haircut at three. -_-