Librettos of Lily
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She is a poised madness and this is her corner. Poetry, quotes, aesthetics, books and songs. All writing in this channel is copyrighted.
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4 232
I would rather bear the weight of infinite disappointment, let torment wrap itself around me like a lover scorned, and endure the merciless torture of my soul for the things I unknowingly dragged down from their celestial heights. Punish me, break me, shatter me into a thousand irreparable fragments—anything, anything but the unbearable sight of the light leaving your eyes. Anything but the cruel burden of telling the tale of your end to the amber hearts of the past, the ones who would listen with pity and sorrow, their faces etched with the same grief I’d carry forever.
I would rather turn around and face the demons I’ve hidden from, let them claw at the marrow of my weary bones, let them carve fear into my flesh and whisper my failures into the hollows of my mind. I would rather be laid bare to the monsters I’ve birthed in my darkness than allow you to step past the gates of my crumbling castle. You must never see what lies within.
For what would you find? Ruins. Twisted remnants of once-proud towers, now overgrown with the vines of regret and despair. A throne made of false charm and fractured glass, cutting anyone who dares approach. No, you cannot witness me like this, stripped of the illusions I wear so carefully. You cannot confront the chaos that lives in my shadow, the wreckage of a soul too tarnished to save.
Better I face the horrors alone. Better I shield you from the truth of what I am, even if it means I burn in the process. Because if you were to stand before me in my ruin, gazing at the brokenness I’ve tried so desperately to hide, I fear the pain of that moment would undo me far more than any demon ever could.
4 232
"The enemy that does the most damage is the enemy you haven’t seen coming."
It’s a sobering truth, isn’t it? The shadow that lingers just beyond your periphery, the threat you didn’t anticipate, can strike with devastating precision. What makes it so dangerous is its invisibility, its ability to sidestep your defenses entirely.
In life, this unseen enemy could take many forms. Sometimes it’s external—a betrayal from someone you trusted, an unexpected twist of fate, or a crisis you never thought would land at your doorstep. Other times, it’s internal—a creeping doubt, an unaddressed fear, or a bad habit that quietly grows roots until it’s too entrenched to ignore.
The unseen enemy thrives on complacency and distraction. It capitalizes on the moments when you’re looking elsewhere, preoccupied with what’s loud and obvious. It’s not the storm you brace for but the quiet leak in the roof that eventually floods the whole house.
So, how does one prepare for the unseen? You can’t predict every possibility, of course—but you *can* stay vigilant. Self-awareness is a shield, curiosity a weapon. Question the things that seem stable, examine the corners you might normally overlook, and listen to your instincts when they nudge at something you can’t quite name.
Above all, remember: it’s not paranoia to acknowledge what you can’t see. It’s wisdom. It’s survival. It’s the understanding that the most dangerous battles often begin in silence.
4 232
"We accept the love we think we deserve."
But what of the rest of us? The ones who don’t believe in love at all, or worse, who have convinced ourselves that we are unworthy of its touch? What becomes of those who linger in the hollow spaces, obsessed not with love itself but with the ache of longing, with the desperation that claws at the edges of our solitude? We don’t crave the people—no, not them. What we want is the unattainable, the unyielding thrill of the chase. We worship the hunger, not the feast.
And then, in that fleeting moment when the object of our desire stops running, when they turn to face us with outstretched hands, the spell shatters. The need collapses. The fire that once consumed us flickers and dies. We discard them like old, torn pages, worn thin by the weight of our yearning. It isn’t them we wanted—it was the ache itself, the chase, the fleeting illusion of something larger than ourselves.
For when love turns to face us, it becomes too real, too steady, too much like a home. And in that warm place, we see the truth we’ve been running from all along—that we don’t know how to hold it, how to let it stay, how to believe we could ever deserve it. So we turn away, back to the longing, back to the void, where the ache is familiar and the chase never ends.
4 232
I am not trying to conquer you
nor cage you in the confines of my will,
nor twist your freedom into submission,
so why do you let me?
Why does the wind bow to the softest breath?
Why do oceans lean into the pull of the moon?
You, with your untamed spirit,
your wild edges that refuse to be smoothed,
your fire that dances in defiance of the dark—
why do you quiet yourself in my shadow?
I never sought to hold you in my palms,
to make you smaller for the sake of my comfort.
I only wanted to stand beside the storm,
to feel its roar, its rain,
and call it beautiful.
But here you are, open, unguarded,
as if surrendering to me is a gift.
And I don’t know whether to weep
for the trust you lay at my feet
or tremble under the weight of it.
I never asked for this power—
to become the sun you orbit around,
to draw you closer, closer,
until you forget how to burn on your own.
So tell me,
how do I hold your heart
without breaking it?
How do I love you
without turning into the thing
I swore I’d never become?
4 232
Waiting and longing, dreaming and demanding, hearts can be deceiving, but some embrace the delusions. It gives them the imagination to keep the dreams they have alive, pumping oxygen into the bodies of the deceased.
Flowers and thorns, insignificant truths and sweet lies—words are trickery in the mouth of your beloved, but some only have ears for their cherished one. It gives them pleasure to be deceived, breathing life into the lovers they long to have.
4 232
From where I stood, the smoky haze upon the glass whispered tales of preservation, a cruel guardian veiling us from the life we dare not embrace—a twisted sort of protection for two souls adrift.
From my perch, cradling a steaming cup of cocoa as the rain danced against the windowpane, our lines entwined like a haunting melody, harmonizing in a bittersweet symphony. Yet, the distinction lay in the flames of our gazes: yours, a shadowy abyss, soft yet unyielding, a mellow void that echoed unspoken fears.
From that cozy corner of the café, where the world outside faded into insignificance, you were cast aside, deemed unworthy of affection. And I, a wary wanderer, wrapped in distrust, hesitated to belong to anyone, caught in the delicate web of longing and reluctance.
