“You are not real. You are a dream of a dream.” – Henry Miller
Silence. So much bareness and emptiness and carelessness. And yet I dare not leave. I have fallen in love with that ferocity, that crushing beauty of the sea.
It’s breathtaking, all that storm-weight finding home in the hollowness of my chest.
& You – you have the eyes of an early morning loneliness spreading across the sky. A light-blue deception, a dream, perhaps, that aches despairingly and leaves me shuddered and bruised inside.
Only the raging sea remains unsullied by the hurt of unobtainable love. And I can no longer hold the moon without being altered by her excruciating desire for a phoenix-like metamorphosis.
I love you, while all mirrors shutter and the sky ruptures and the stars are numb, I love you in the moment when realization comes and I cannot contain the tears any longer – those cataracts of raw and all-consuming tears.
I love you and perhaps it will be enough… (But really I fear the storm will never forgive, I fear… no wait, I’m scared… of the perpetual drifting between night and despair.)
I love you, but really I’m so scared.