Why does my heart still race when I see you?
I saw you walking today, with your friend, and all I could think was "Wow. Is this what a heart attack feels like?"
Because I can't believe it, I was done. I was OVER you.
And instead my heart goes "Beep... Beep... Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEP. BEEP. BEEPBEEEPBEEEPBEEEPBEEEP," every single time you come around, like a freakin radar.
I am not a submarine.
I do not NEED for every single cell in my body to alert me when you're within 20 feet of me because, like I said before, I WAS DONE.
No! Don't you dare smile at me with your crooked mouth and shining eyes.
Because then I feel gross.
I DON'T LIKE THE THOUGHT OF BUTTERFLIES FLYING AROUND IN MY STOMACH.
That is disturbing and physically impossible.
My stomach acids would've killed them on contact. Don't try to make this crush cute.
So please, for the love of a Jesus Christ Super Toaster, don't do THAT anymore.
And by "THAT" I mean, don't make me love you anymore.
I can't stand it and I won't for any longer.
In church I was taught that having idols was bad, but that's exactly what you are to me.
A forbidden fruit
So I am praying to God that you are a mango because I hate mangos.
Their insides are too thick and outsides way too thin.
Which is exactly like you because you are a haywire of emotions, but I can easily peel you away to see who you really are.
Maybe I do like mangos...

"Eärendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid.

In panoply of ancient kings,
in chainéd rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes
to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn,
his arrows shorn of ebony;
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.

Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.

There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the fire on her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea
there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel;
by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath
as might of death across the grey
and long forsaken seas distressed;
from east to west he passed away.

Through Evernight he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
where ends the world the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.

He tarried there from errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,
and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls
where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns the Elder King
in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then
of folk and Men and Elven-kin,
beyond the world were visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.

A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.

From Evereven's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light,
beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From a World's End there he turned away,
and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn
where grey the Norland waters run.

And over Middle-earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids
in Elder Days, in years of yore.
But on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orbéd star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shores where Mortals are;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse."

~ The Fellowship of the Ring, Many Meetings

....................................................

There are no magic memories
Fit to fix an old man's soul,
Or time befuddled bunnies
Traipsing down a rabbit hole.
There is no pot of gold, I'm told,
At the rainbow's end.
Nor an Alice fool enough to call
The Queen of Hearts her friend.
There is no quest for Camelot
Unsinged by writer's block.
Or a Pan within a labyrinth
Dispensing magic chalk.
There are no Gnomes, no spirit keys,
No dragon wars, no trees that sneeze,
No roads paved in that yellow brick,
No fairies darting low and quick
Through enchanted dandelion seas
Alongside the Everbetter Bees.
There are no mountains draped in gold,
Nor pixie dust bright as the stars.
No armored bears to fight a cold
Just to gain some battle scars.
There is no cheese upon the moon,
No mermaids deep in a lagoon,
Or pirates haunting Neverland,
Nor flying carpets o'er sea and sand.
No segacious wizards wise and fair,
No time-traveling rocking chair
Until that wild winding wind we share
Showers imagination here and there,
Up, up high and down below,
In places gently capped with snow,
Where every wiley fuss will know
All the greatest memories go.
There are no wonders left to see
Until somebody sets them free.
And that's where Carroll inspires me,
And I get so lost in young Barrie.
Where one rides a magic alligator,
Dahl flies in his glass elevator.
Where Genie's kindly grant a new wish,
Geisel shares his "one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish,"
To my Muse, that is the grandest sight,
And why I am compelled to write.

Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler

"I can believe anything provided it is incredible."
~ Oscar Wilde