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A self observational something or another. Idle musing, with a hint of painful truth |
I cannot define love It is a complicated word. So I cannot define just the word. I have to define the space this word exists in. Love is a room. It is lit by a solitary bulb, its light diffused so that it falls softly, like a luminous net, upon the hushed greens and earth tones of the furniture. In this room is a bed. and there are lovers. Clad in rumpled sheets and shared sweat lipstick smears and hairs out of place Half blind and terrified I am not one of them. Neither are you. They are our ideals. I will put her on a pedestal When it is the perfect.time warmed by the fading heat disconnected, we breath as one When everything is said and nothing is secret it will bloom Blinking to life like a firefly in the evening to illuminate our sleeping faces In the space between and inside, My mind gives it the shape of a dancer Unbelievably small Spinning on an invisible thread To capture the lilting echo of a G sharp Or the dying light of the sun Trap perfection in a bottle Write sonnets on a grain of sand The smallness and perfection staggered me The love I know lives and dies in that moment What is left sustains us Till it doesn't any more My hope is to one day keep that space between moments alive Cos I think that's when I'd finally know true love |