Being gripped by my own folly of taking it as there as per my own projection, I've, as a troubling afterthought, missed such a thing, like not being able to keep up with elevating, despite being so ephemeral, his or her mood just by the cost of my being able to mouth some favourable wordings, like "You're intelligent. You're smart. You've done it smartly. You look great. It happens, but you're great. I appreciate your way of thinking on how life should be spent. Wish you're going to have a great vacation." Dealing with the present sensitivity, the norm of the need of delicacy, is more or less like my tryst with playing myself off with the urge of my vulgar instinct, namely our basic instinct you know so well, this tethering myself to, so much of this carnal urge marked by the attachment to the opposite genital, the pivot that embodies all other sensual indulgences. I don't want to lie to myself. I want to break it down naked, the way my most cruel punishment meted out to its luring, clever encroachment on my mental stability. Both could be termed 'delicacy', given their life-energy counts just on this mindfulness, and that leads to a long story of self-discipline... Setting against it, having a timely sang-froid is rather bulky rather than being lissome.
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