things can change and tables can turn, just as the sun can rise and fall as the sea changes tides. everything slips away really easily, and perhaps that’s why people tend to grasp onto things a little too tight, eventually gaining nothing but comfort in abrasions and the memories of having something within the embrace of their sweaty palms.
perhaps that’s why he never indulges in being expressive in indulgent gradients across canvas or extravagant hues with fluctuating temperatures. it’s always been a safe shade of pastel blue and white, and ebony which albeit contrasting in essence, fits perfectly amongst the colours just like how he would’ve loved filling the spaces between his fingers with warmth reminding him of lit matches and the feeling of having time in his favour. it’s always walking on the inner half of the pavement, hands brushing against cement. it’s always about staying away from the sea because he knows that he’d succumb to the reeling scent, the sensation of water against his cheeks and his lungs filling themselves with stinging thorns, his ears blotted dry of sensations by saturated cyan whispers.
he likes drawing the lines, and perhaps a little too much. they’re seen in black ink against fibre, swollen marks against pale skin, albeit messy because of his uneven fingernails – he loves keeping things in order, compartmentalised, kept safe from reach. he chains his thin wrists to the scorching metallic rings on the balcony and basks in the sun, the sea less than three metres away from where he perceives his toes end.
he learns of self-control but perhaps he doesn’t know where he ends and where she should begin – he might’ve drawn lines with too much zest, but now that its been done, back-pedalling isn’t an option – he can only dive in beyond notions skin-deep, and learn to breathe even when the air’s replaced by thick asphyxiating bubble.
perhaps he can only hope to float back up to the surface with the single notion of indignant voices, questioning his once validated decision to ruin the canvas which had the right saturation and temperature all at once.
some things can’t be treated quantitively, but as they all say once bitten twice shy. a slip in self control might lead to the persecution of the freedom which came as a given trait – and he chose to wind the watch back to the beginning and break the gears, so that it’ll never slip by once again.