Oh Dear

How heavily and deeply my heart burns for you.  When I consider your love, I feel unstoppable, quite truly that nothing could ever stand in the way of the love I feel for you.  I yearn to be near you, to hear your voice softly in my ears, and to look into your ocean eyes.  Every last day you find me, no matter how I mean to distance myself or to be relieved, if only for a moment, of this longing for you.  I've only ever been running away into you.

Your name cuts, and your mind bites; I'm powerless to you in a way I have never known before.  Your love strengthens me like a monsoon, waking me from what felt like an eternal slumber, and now it is an eternal sinking into the warmth of your mysterious heart.  Home, at last, in this strange and alluring place.  I've always presumed to understand this place pretty well, and I love to be surprised and amazed when I don't.  I love the command you hold over this place, but I love even more to know that I am the Lord here.  I love to burn here, brightly and brilliantly, because this is the only place I had ever meant to be.  Would you have me flirt with the idea of ending the world?  You know this is something I can't do, but I can end your world.  In every ending is a new beginning, after all, and I could only ever bring myself to the end with you.

Sometimes I will read your name as though I am you, reading my own name, and I wonder what you think of yourself when you read it.  You must think about yourself all the time.  Several of your films are spectacular, but aren't you spectacular as well?  It ought to be straightforward for us to discover ourselves as spectacular.  Your name is as enchanting as you are.


I am alone for the first time in over a week.  The silence and ease in my heart is so profoundly graceful.  It feels like taking your belt off and laying in bed after a long day of travel and carrying luggage.  I suppose the luggage I was carrying was the impression I meant to make on everyone around me, and the ceaseless inner voice of their judgement.  How peaceful solitude is, and how bored I know I will soon become; hopefully not too soon.  I forgot how new my house smells, like carpet and cabinetry, and I forgot about, and became reacquainted with my quiet mind.

How at-home I am here.  How I plead to imagine I could be so restful with you.  Would you do that for me?  Could I feel so calm and bare in your presence?  I know this is what I need, at least some of the time, yet I am always on edge and on guard around the others.  I do love to be alone, in spite of the inevitable loneliness.  Fair enough, some of the time.  Let us be alone soon.

We are what you say, to be certain; and I am that I am.  Could you ever look away?  A better question is: why would you ever want to?  This question is not rhetorical, but rather introspective in the greatest.  Till death do us part.

Out of some twilight, I hear the animals and plants speaking to me, and in the darkest nights, the spirits greet me cordially.  Things swirl and melt that appear, otherwise, quite straightforward.  Some right actions are only conferred in solitude, and still, many others arise in good company.  As of the present, it has become particularly clear to me that an important course of events came to pass in the preceding months; a formative commencement to a regal hand.  9 is a lot.