Tuesday, March 12, 2013

The Process and The Color



I like to believe what’s melting is ice and ice is just water, certainly not what you paid for. And I know it’s not the case, unlike how you don't know what I’m selling is my own truth, certainly not what you’d expect on sale.

Because it seems as though the trick is in the cream, and though I don’t like it when you call it flavor, I’ll work on my translation skills accordingly. I’ll probably go through it again and picture myself as the apparatus and you as the temperature. But help me, how do I know what’s the threshold for the glass the apparatus is made up of, for though my insides are readily vulnerable, I’d need to keep my form?

One scoop out of refrigeration isn’t exactly a sin, it’s a destined cycle. So it isn't fair that it gets mocked when it’s in a transitional phase as if it’s always going to be weak and leaky. As if it won’t cross the bridge and get to the other side. 
(Especially when you’re the one who’s more concerned about the form I’m contained in.)

The point at which it melts isn't exactly the answer you should be working on when what I’m asking is when it ceases to exist. So tell me when did I become someone else?

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