Smoke rings

Amic was beautiful in the way a smoke ring was.
Fleeting perfection achieved through too much time and dedication to a deadly habit.

She wanted to quit.

chess

Bryan lived like he played chess.
He had a general conception of how the pieces moved, but lacked any real strategy to his movements and also lacked the knowledge and foresight to predict the moves of others.

He wanted to get better at chess.

I swear i am willing to be refined.

i know i have yet to prove it. i should stop comparing myself to iron ore; as if i were strong. or any form of plant; as if by my very existence i would grow.

am i being refined? if not it is because i have buried myself far too deep.

the truth is that there is a fire burning hot enough. the opportunity persists, despite my resistance.

i want to end. end my unending thoughts. i want to stop thinking of what i am most like and start seeing what i am.
i am a wretched, mistake-making fool who gets distracted at every turn by everything meant to be left alone. i lack any sort of focus or discipline (or motivation for any real change) i am too good at lying about things and am believed by everyone at times. i am simply a regurgitation of the world around me: taking everything in and spitting it back out in some sickly distorted, yet appropriately placed way. yet somehow, beyond my delusions of grandiose failure, i am loved. i feel greedy saying that. i am loved (unconditionally, at that)
despite my irrationality and quirks beyond repair, i am loved

i have been loved

i will be loved

i am loved

i am loved

i am loved...

what i want, i can't have.

this is devastating.