My Precious

And in the darkness we live.

Alone though unfettered. We keen with the despair of our lives and our loves, but we are careful, so careful never to look directly at the passageway that leads out of our cursed existance. Without our curse, we would be free. And that is the one thing we cannot bear to consider.

And so, in the darkness we live.

Content that our curse will keep us warm, and that freedom is just a mythical monster that we need not ever face.

And in the darkness we live, with you, our love.

How do you say goodbye to your life?

Isnt it tragic, that when faced with seperation, your mind invariably travels to the all the things that you will never have again, rather than the things that you will be finally free of.

Why are we hardwired to torture ourselves? Something I was so sure was ineveitable, and possibly the best course of action only a few moments ago seems now to be a course of action so ridiculous in its conception that I simply can not believe that it is what I had decided to do.

What I have done. Are we doomed to forever regret that which we may have thought out and discussed within the inner reaches of our minds? Why, when faced with the reality of my carefully reasoned arguements, the actual happening of an idea and an emotion, everything seems to be a pale echo of what I had thought it would truly be.

Why, and from where, comes the conviction that I am the only one to feel this way? How I now long to see you. To hear you sigh with impatience and reach for me in absolute exaspertaion that I might have taken what you said seriously. To hear you say it isnt true, that all the words we said meant nothing and that the decision we made to unintwine our lives was just anger and sleeplessness and stress. That the love was still there, unblemished and whole and enough, to take us through this storm and any other that might come our way. That we are still that, we, and not separated into the cold and dead you and I that I could surely never endure hearing on either of our lips.

How do you say goodbye to a heart and a soul full of love? DO you rip them out and pray that they will grow again? Hope that there is infact an endless supply of tender feelings, of love so deep that you leak a puddle onto the floor everytime you stand still for too long?

But it is. Whole and unblemished and enough. But perhaps, only for me. To love you and never forget even in the heat of mindless anger that you are mine and that I will love you no matter what I said and how often I said it. That you, beyond everything else I have ever touched were perfect. That i am sorry. Full stop.

And finally, at the end of our loving, as it crumbles and turns to gray dust that hides and festers beneath our fingernails, as the drum rolls one last time and the frail lightning of hope crashes out in the sky, finally, I have written you a love letter. One that I strived for so long to compose but could never find the words. Here my love, my heart, my life, here is a declaration of my love. I did not want to let you go.

All Hail the Prophet that Was

"Just scared.

That i will love you like a foolish child, and you will love me like a dignified adult."

Anger, thats what i feel. No. No not anger, rage. Blind, murderous, cannibalistic, all consuming, screaming, punching, kicking, biting Rage. God the stupidity. I knew, I always knew that no matter what he said, he would never love me like I could love him. He would never want me like I could want him. And I told him, I told him I was scared that I was too young, and he needed someone whose heart was less prone to absolutes of emotion. I suppose that was s stupid thing to say. You make something horrible sound beautiful enough and anyone will want it.

But he swore. He swore that he was not going to be the kind that disappeared on me, that the fatigue of living three and half decades would not destroy his ability to love me and want me and like the stupid, naieve little fool that I was I believed him.

And now...

I am alone. With a man who doesnt understand me and doesnt want to. All he wants is to live out his life in peace. Peace? Fuck peace.

I want LIFE not life. I want passion and sex and madness and desperation and awe that I can reach out and touch someone so incredible.

He's already had it you see. He's done and now he just doesnt need it anymore.

God I am a fool. Of all the people to not listen to, I picked me.

And now...

Now...

Now I have nothing to say.

My Dearest Love-shmove type emotion,

It is so nice to finally have met you. I have heard much about you, and though not all of it was good, I have been extremely anxious that we meet in person. There are somethings that just have to be done face to face, and you my dear Love, you epitomise all that should be embraced in bare skin and stilletoes.

I was thirteen, when I first realised that you were more than just an idea. In the cruelty of a gangly boy a vast three years older than I, I realised that you existed in more than just the hearts and minds of people. You had a body and a shape and a life all your own. And if we were good little mortals, we might be indulged with a gentle kiss on the forehead as you breezed your way across time destroying nations and sparking syphilis epidemics. Its a dirty job but someones got to do it, you seemed to say as you meandered your way through my eighth grade art class.

Ever since then, I have been unable to put you from my mind. I even met your far more glamourous sister, Hate, and though Hate and I had some good times we both realised that we were'nt meant to be. I was made for you Love, and all I could do was wait for you to come and warm my life. And my bed of course, though I wouldnt think of that seriously until I was sixteen.

In the years that followed I spent a lot of time with your family. Hate and I have always been close, but Lust, Desperation and Insanity all came to play. And we had fun, though not always the kind we thought we would.

Can I tell you a secret Love? Every time one of your siblings came to me, I thought it was you. I thought you had found me at last. But then I would wake up one morning and realise that there was only the slightest of family resemblances, or that your evil uncle Alcohol had been playing games with my mind again.

But now Love, you are here... and you're not... cool. You are calm and stable and warm and comfort. Where are the wars? And the plagues? The asteroids that are deflected by the power of love? Cant I at least have a songbird that can tweet out 'Strangers in the Night'? Surely people dont kill each other and start wars because otherwise they would have to read the paper alone in bed in the morning?

Or do they?

You have bewildered me again Love. But just you wait. I'll outfox you yet.

Sincerely,
The Dragon