I present you with a secret.
I am quite sure that you are aware of what this means.
A tale,story,truth or lie that is not to be repeated.
Simply a notion, a sample of knowledge, that exists only between yourself and I.
Please keep this secret, for if you were to let even so much as a word of it slip,
I could not begin to stress what manner of unearthly happenings would start to take place.
Pretend for a moment that you are the ocean, the barer of the worlds wisdom, shame, detriment, woes, depression, deceit but most importantly, secrets.
She does not but whisper a single word, not even when she breaks upon the land, and sprays her frustration in the faces of her admirers.
You are the ocean, in human form.
As beautiful, and now as wise.

It was at this exact point, that I could see the crossover.
The trio that is the past present and future, gathered collectively around me.
Face to face with the answer to it all, and perhaps even a cure for all misery's.
Or just the singular misery that is and has been 'Life'
Not the life we should embrace and rejoice for and of,
But the life that we know as 'Real'.
For, the life that we philosophise over and about, is that of natural beauty,
Primitive emotions and the outstanding process that we know to be evolution.
Though when thrown into the melting pot of ingredients for the 'Grand Scheme'
It resembles merely the pinch of salt, to flavour.
No, 'Life' in reality, is a bitter, bitter existence, the salt in this instance, is weighed in grams
not pinches, and there is not a sweetener to be seen.
So here I stand, at the crossover.
With my body still intact, and my mind as powerful as ever.
I take my last breath, feel my last beat and hear my last note, before I lay my hand upon this handle
and take my last step, into the new darkness that awaits me.

.

We would walk alone, through the forests and fields.
Discussing at length, all manners of beauty and desire.
Never once interrupted, our faces aglow from the remaining few beams and a glint in the eyes of one another .
Your pupils take the form of pure diamond, set in platinum, drowning in a sea of white gold.
Untouched by filthy hands, unmarked by anything at all.
And here, in this opening, we marvel together at the passing of another day.

For you...

She loves me, she loves me not.
"Not love" you say, "Not Again".
"Oh please but give such letters a rest,
For we grow weary of the day to day consistencies of that which you call 'Love'
And such a word, 'tis used out of context on many an occasion, oh love, I love.
Love me".

Riddle Me That..

I am in love.

I am most certainly in love.

"With who?" you ask, you call, you yearn and long to know.

But no is certainly what you will hear, and know is certainly what you won't.

Neither will they, probably, ever.

As I am in love and I am most certainly afraid to address it.