A Telling of Love

A Telling of Love

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Who could forget the miracle of the day you first appeared? A moment when fantasy and reality lapsed and a lag cursed the thought, in what seemed an eternity of disbelief. Time left, beauty personified, and every obstacle dissolved. The world was free and impossibilities were void. You gave me life, and I was born a second time.

As quickly as you’ve made me, you’ve wrecked my balance and sanity against the shores of truth, shattered it into pitiful bits as thick as an atoms’ edge. I was poisoned with hopes and fantasies, ifs and maybes, and rendered useless to pass every day, every waking and unconscious second without the immortal pain of possible disappointment. I was torn and tormented, in an ferocious, ever shifting climate of unsettling bleak and warmth, and I’ve imagined hell to be a bliss if I would die in that moment.

As quickly as you’ve made me, you’ve wrecked my balance and sanity against the shores of truth, shattered it into pitiful bits as thick as an atoms’ edge.

As I bleed profusely, picking up every razor of truth and myself, I had glimpsed the future, and discovered my fate was non-existent without you.

Every time I see you or beheld you in my eyes and mind, I would know nothing but humility. Under the spell of beauty incarnate, my heart fell through endless heights, my mind in a trance of dreamful intoxication. And for the time we first spoke, I swore my life had closed on its final chapter. And for that time when our hearts were mutual, not even the glory of heaven or the horror of hell could impress me, for I had you.

And for that time when our hearts were mutual, not even the glory of heaven or the horror of hell could impress me, for I had you.

And when we met reality, like flowers approaching summer, beauty and perfection became temporal, and we spiraled down and fell and were almost lost. The kingdoms of passion were not constructed on impulses or in the first seconds alone. It demanded offerings, for us to be tortured, ripped apart and put together and ripped apart again, the hopes and wishes crushed so fine for a lone and secret purpose, and that was only to assemble the purest, truest essence of love. There we saw each other, crystal and thorough, hearten and complete, disproved and proved countless lyrics of love songs, and reality instead became the best teacher we have known, and few will ever have the fortune to discover.

Now, with a paved and concrete path of blind determination shot, stuck, and sunken ahead into the midst of a once wild and frightful time, we can begin to indulge the sweetness sown in those innocent times. When we are someday swaying slowly and silently to some slow music, hand in hand, warmth against warmth, heart to heart, all that will be needed, and ever will be needed is –

Love.

 

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Crow (BM113)

Scholar. Gentleman. Handsome. Also a bird.

 



 

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