1. Funny how it fades, that epochal romantic sun. What once reached inside of me to my darkest parts and made them glow with a reverent fervor imbued by what could only seem so beautiful to our eyes, yours and mine.
  2. Not that I ever stooped foolish enough to believe it an immortal qualification upon my own inevitable mortality. That is after all the nature of these things. And it's truer for them than it is for most other entropic ideas and unions.
  3. I keep coming back to her. I keep coming back to her and I can't justify why. But for a psychoanalytical jump from living personally to living coldly and naively. Because to feign understanding of this kind of humanity is foolish as it is ignorant.
  4. Certainly I love others. Certainly I love others and in different and similar ways to the way I love and loved her. But nothing quite so unique. No love being the same that is tended like a small flame for so long in the winds of poor timing and rains of misunderstanding and distance as hers was to me.
  5. I shouldn't love her. I shouldn't but I do and perhaps that's the truth to love. Loving someone more than logic can express and not for but its description but for its reasoning. Funny the tremors of the human heart on this door of red. Knocking as one does with a tentative stance. Prepared as it may for the brunt of an angry storm from the masses.
  6. To a man with a heart like mine. One cannot choose whom their heart goes to. One can either follow it or be pained for its distance. For how it stretches myself to the point of breaking. Pouring down my chin a pint of purest Melancholy fissure. The nectar of the broken gods myself among their numbers arrogant as the shattered soul is feeble.
  7. I know now what it is to watch someone change. It is painful as the going of the moon is to a cold autumn night. Somber tones float their hollow melody from the shoddy remnants of my ramshackle love. That once towering bastion of incomparable devotion now a rusting tribute to life's cruel touch. Brittle as the midnight snow and so much ever colder.
  8. My disappointment is only held firm to that fertile bannister on the hallmarks of our most incredulous shattering. A born and buried pantiom to these, our own, callus tertiary memories. Ringing out absently a phantom toll. Who calls to me as the bright wind would with a grandiose and whispered song.
  9. And thus I part with that cold departed ghost inside you. Annointing your eyes with a blue not unlike a twilight sea on a frosted morning. But can't I ever separate myself from the soul in you who carried my heart. Within your heart. Who strung herself out to me in her most gentle fearsome moments and I found her cradled among the shadows about me.
  10. Oh how I adore her. But there is no more of her but my memory. And what little heart remains in my own heart fades at the break of each new morning star cast across the shade of bed. And the ease of every night's velvet drapery upon my eyes.
  11. Oh how I yearn to hear you sing. To feel my chest fill up with awe at your tarnished beauty. That unfinished soul straining inside you. Around and through such damaged experiences and begotten longings and fear.
  12. Oh how I still yearn to protect the innocence buried inside you. What little more of it that still remains is but a question for the gods and I alone go not in search of answering it but to another more worthy keeper. For I shall be another's. And I shall be another's because I can't have you. My love.
  13. But never shall my romantic ideation cease for the harbored soul in you. What beauty started mine spinning in a faded memory years ago.
  14. I love you. Good bye again.