Wearing your heart like a stolen dream
Opening skies with your broken keys.
~Zedd~

And as the realisation that a reality may soon fade into a memory, I find myself animating words and scenarios in hopes that I can forever cherish the memory with a decor so relevant to the image.

Sounds and music an instantaneous trigger; portraits of each yesterday flood my consciousness with a hunger for just a little longer, a thirst for inspiration. There it was, within reach: but so was a fear that a firm grip on this dream would only push it away. I wanted so badly to embrace every essence of richness and cognition.

“A kindred know-it-all” was the chosen phrase, quoted directly and without paraphrasing. Perhaps the acknowledgement of an association too blatant, yet amidst a silence which is yet to be bestowed, a captivating endearment echos within the empty walls.

Thoughts, images, memories, ideas seep into my cognisance as I dwell on every word once spoken. Analysing the reasons behind each word, contrasting intent and expression.

Paradoxical as it all may be, the fact is that it’s quite possible my expectations were somewhat subjective. Daring to venture into the realms of the unknown has always been my forte – it just so happens that the forte I have stumbled upon at this moment has very obvious unknowns.

True beauty masked by a chassis of diction, academics and knowledge. Wisdom hidden in the crevices of each broken crack. Magnetism radiating from behind every locked door.

A forte not abandoned, but holding secrets waiting to be discovered. It’s shadows and strange sounds driving out unwanted visitors, pushing away strange characters.

A forte, challenging any bold adventurer to explore, apprehensive about a new traveler disrupting a peace and quiet one has become accustomed to. A forte, waiting to be discovered, waiting for its secrets to be revealed – waiting for the right hands to appreciate its fragility.

A forte, robust and beautiful, but mounted in the distance, far away from all. Hidden by the purlieus of every distance and gap between the forte and human interaction. Not inaccessible to those within proximity, but only the brave and perceptive dare to go the distance to enter this forte.

Perhaps one may have been granted a slight glimpse at the treasures inside, and yet extenuating circumstances prevented the traveler from entering the forte per se.

Whether it be a change in weather, a slip of a foothold; whether it be an obstacle or hindrance, a trap or a trigger.

Whatever the reason, when an adventurer is prepared to go forth into an unknown realm, he has always accounted for variable change.

And thus, this variable change may even result in being chained to the walls in the dungeon, far, far away from audibility (but not too far that he is impervious). Chained, while his screams are silenced by a burning desire that cooperation may be the only way out.

So he considers surrendering  because he made it in. Despite the forte’s attempts at scaring him off, his stubborn yet futile attempts at digging for treasure satisfy his rebellion against common sense. He chooses to stay rather than bolt, unless four walls close in on him and the foundations of the forte shatter.

Though that is entirely unlikely.

But then again, the forte has not been fully explored. Any movement, absolutely any movement, could result in chaos and disruption.

To risk, or not to risk.

Braveheart.