REVERIE

And sitting here, thinking about all the memories we shared, it dawned on me that it was actually real, not just a figment of my imagination as I have come to make it seem. There was a time our love had the semblance of a live thing, pulsating with red flowing through it. It lived,it breathed, it grew.

Surely twenty is almost too young to have a life permanently dented. To love is a risk. Like walking into a dark, unfamiliar room. The terror of the unknown. The deep overwhelming presence of the dark. The resistance one feels towards that force which seeks to engulf him in a sea of nothingness in order for him to awaken as one half of two. To struggle against the currents is to be plunged deeper into the depths of despair. So one takes the dark, sucks it in and allows himself to be led. Freely and ductile.

This abyss of memories, a never ending tunnel bearing the reflection of every glance, every smile, every gesture. A concise mirror of the emotions awoken with each touch, each kiss.
Metamorphosis. Pain. Broken wings, broken dreams. Silence.
We drifted, imperceptibly, hit the rocks and came crashing tumultuously. Two people flung to shore, disillusioned and spent. Ghosts of who we were.
Like a live thing, our love died.

And sitting here thinking,two fat tears stain my cheek. I'll hold on to this reverie.