The Most Beautiful Bitter Fruit
La Dispute Lyrics

After sundown, before sleeping, I am the worst of me. I am a mess of these Old themes and the murmur of half-dreams whisper seductively and stage scenes.
At nighttime, when I am left to my own thoughts, I am overwhelmed by my inner turmoil. My subconscious is filled with old patterns and unfinished thoughts that seduce me into creating fictitious scenes.

It's fear fiction, these visions, Caught somewhere between delusion and prophesy. What I haven't done, what I've wanted to, And what I fear you have Becomes reality here.
These thoughts are a type of psychological horror story, lodged somewhere between illusion and prophecy. My thoughts are consumed with what I haven't done yet or what I'm afraid you might've done, creating a disastrous reality.

Bright lights in the young night keep to the beat. A classic party scene, crowded and interesting. No love, no life, no history. Just touch, just chemistry, just A roaring undercurrent simple and sensory. Young bodies, warm skin, perfect symmetry and It's a moment, harmless. It's energy. It's like medicine, It's self-discovery.
Amid the vibrant lights of a party, we're all just strangers engaging in thoughtless, yet thrilling pleasures. We don't care about love, life, or history; just the physical touch and chemistry dominating our natural attraction. This is a fleeting moment of escapism, like taking medicine to forget our worries and discover parts of ourselves.

See, all the secrets I keep, why are they secrets?
Why do I keep my innermost thoughts and struggles a secret, causing myself more pain and heartache when I could share them with someone?

It's only temporary, that fleeting feeling of warmth, Just a flash before the line gets blurry, Between a longing for more than what the body wants now and What the body wants now more than anything. Was it integrity that kept my hands to myself or Just the thought of getting too far ahead of you? Was it that I got too tired of the consequence? Or was I just scared?
These momentary pleasures are traced with ambiguity and confusion ─ teetering on whether or not we succumbed to our carnal desires, or if our integrity simply held us back. It's unclear whether the guilt or the fear provoked our hesitation.

I only know I never wanted to get left behind.
Despite this internal battle, I never wanted to be forgotten or abandoned, desperately holding onto any physical connection in my life to feel like I had some value.

No pauses, not a second guess. First a swaying then a stumble then a swagger. They're just movements towards feeling. It doesn't matter Neither hesitates to carry on a kind of energy, Sweat and block out everything to Find every aperture and compel the animal parts. Fan flames, taste fruit, taste bitter fruit. Just trying to learn how all the wires in the body work. Just trying to feel it out, it's like medicine. Trap the healing in whatever bed they end up in.
The physical act of giving in to our inner desires is a journey towards emotional and physical release. We don't think, we just move according to what pleasures our body craves. It doesn't matter what we're doing as long as it helps us explore our own anatomy like a science experiment. During the healing time afterwards, we're left with our thoughts and hopefully some measure of closure.

I want to feel it out. I want to know how it works. I want to know if it was worth it to worry, About the ghosts I feared would haunt the memory, About the damage that I'm sure the fear has done to me now. I want to know what it is in me that won't follow through Those nights the instinct takes a hold of me and pushes too. Maybe it's only that I've never gotten over you. Or am I still scared?
It's natural to want to explore our own anatomy and experiences to gain closure, but we sometimes wonder if overthinking and worrying about past mistakes is worth the outcome. What stops us from indulging in our instincts fully and freely? Is it emotional baggage, lingering trauma, or just plain fear?

I see the church steps, a vision. Is there fiction in this one too? It's true, I've made a tale of it here, still, It's a little unclear who's been haunting who. And time can be such a funny thing, always moving to the future Glorifying the past and amplifying the pain in frames and glass.
In my mind, I see a scenario where the past seeps into my present. But was it real or just another made-up fragment? All I know is that it's foggy who's been getting the most out of me, as time trudges onwards and turns even the most miniscule of memories into a grand, painful spectacle.

So was our touch half as sacred as I've made it seem Or just another fabrication of a half-dream? Just those chemicals, the adolescent love. Just us trying to grasp onto meaning, Onto a purpose, Onto a sense that Something spiritual releases when the feeling hits.
Were our encounters with each other as significant as I think they were or was it just my imagination? Was there anything that made our experiences special, or were they just a product of adolescent hormones searching for a deeper meaning and spiritual awakening?

And when the feeling hits. And in that moment sparks and harps play out A sweeping melody through fog and fantasy And in that moment there's an honesty instinctive and pure but It departs like it came, rapid and bearing no more Than fleeting ecstasy of natural harmony. They fear the notes being played and try to sing along. Don't be ashamed, be free to the feeling. Don't be ashamed, keep feeling. But find it: a body that makes sense. I've felt it.
In the moment where our experiences reach their peak, our emotions create a beautiful symphony that's so pure and instinctive. The momentary high is fleeting and leaves us wanting something more substantial. Don't be afraid of the music that makes you feel alive, instead embrace it and live in the moment. But ultimately, we need to find someone or something that makes our body and emotions align in the way that the music does for us.