We had a color you and I.
You were a tantalizing white, vibrant yet subtle. You had the power to magnify everything because of that silent manifestation you comprise when a drop of any other shade was splattered on you, making it incredibly vivid. You were what poets used as muse for there was nothing purer than the flawless white of that glorious spirit yet you were neither dumbfounded nor disappointed by it.


I was a disaster-prone black, ill-fated yet beautiful. I made the light seem brighter, more picturesque; a comparison for better accomplishment. I came out at night to walk the terrors of the hours of darkness, untouched because of this gloomy soul. I was what the holly book prohibits to touch, to indulge all sensations because to drink from me was to imbibe a gallon of sin.


Sadly, beauty and unpleasant have a curious way of finding each other. I don’t remember which of us found the other first; if it was I who saw you shine from miles away or if it was you who found me huddled in a corner.


We were gods you and I. we created a love that transversed worlds. We shamed Orpheus and Eurydice. We disgraced Torin and Keelycael. There was nothing more powerful than the passion we twisted and at the same time nothing was more potent. We came from different places, you from the havens and I from the shallow depths of hell; and everything we made became a freak of nature.   


 We created the color gray.


We created the color gray from our undefeated essences. We made an unremarkable and unloved color from our insurmountable selves for the reason that we were too prideful to give up each other and at the same time ourselves. We made an abhorred thing because we were never meant for each other.


I realized when I saw you walk away, that last dreadful night, the white in you was somewhat fazed and I looked in the mirror that same night to see the darkness in me leaking. There was a little bit of gray in both of us. That was when I realized we stole pieces of each other.


Yes, my love, we made a color gray.

I rolled the hurb on a piece of delicately cut paper,  perfectly rectangular with perfect width and perfect height,  so it'd make an equally perfect bed to this delicacy I was about to put in it. It was a friend, you see, this conjuring of a plant. It let me indulge in it's sweet essence while I burned it to ashes.  It let me forget all my troubles as i pander to all it provided, still knowing it died while doing so.

Enough. Enough about the intimacy we shared. I'm losing momentum on my story.

So here I was sitting on my bedroom floor,  feeling the subtle cold of the ground beneath me,  hands crafting this masterpiece between my fingers.  Papers flawlessly curled on top of each other made a graceful cylinder with a not so graceful hat on top. I held this magnum opus above my head so I could better yet inspect it. It took me an exact 25 minutes to get where I was, all steps combined to place me in this exact moment,  in this exact time with a friend no lower than a lover.  I put the end of it between my lips and squeezed ever so gently as if to reaffirm it's existence.  I smiled a half crooked smile thinking of how I narrated each moment in my head before placing it on my half finished note book.  I picked the match up (yes a match and not a lighter,  I am old fashioned that way) from the floor where I had placed it before all processes began. It only took one  try of experienced fingers to set the small stick ablaze and traveling to the tip of my art work.  It caught fire. It was a redish-brown.   The fire was extinguished as it fell from between my fingers. 

A breath.

Another deep breath.

Peace.

I felt the smoke move through my mouth and down my throat or up to my head ( honestly, I have no idea how it does what it does)  yet it traveled, traveled every where. I ****** and blew in uncounted intervals until my work was nothing but a dark splotch of ash between my fingers. I thought of blowing it away or cleaning it with a shirt I saw laying around but decided against it.  It felt wrong somehow,  as if I was degrading the level of familiarity we just shared. So instead I rubbed it between my fingers until it no longer existed.

This felt weirdly like all the relationships i've had.

Formed, challenged, completed. Yet a smudge is left.

Time is a mysterious thing. One we think too little or too much about as if it was either an extraneous concept or a recognizable one but never simply an acquaintance. We fear to gaze in to its dark eyes for fear of what we’ll see in its untamed structure. Perhaps we fear the absolute freedoms of it in how all its courses are never underlined by incongruous moments such as once that hunt our very existence. Or maybe we’re jealous of how youthful it stays while we slowly deteriorate to our graves as it watches with indifference.


I wish to give time a gender so it fulfils all my assumptions of it. Perhaps it’s a women, gentle and eloquent; with a heart that grounds the most feral of things. Her touch is knowledge and wisdom but also all things unknown. She is sculpted like the goddess praised while her love burns oceans from existence yet she watches alone from a distance quite unreachable. Lonely everlasting. Nonetheless her soul is cruel and unforgiving; her betrayal unexpected. Her expectations to high that even the most eligible of men would not dare attempt such a futile conquest for to even try would be to fail. However her compulsion is too powerful to disregard so no man sits ideal.


Perhaps it’s a man with a will that is ironclad. His grips too powerful for even the greatest of empires to resist so all chose to bend for fear of breaking. He rules like he makes love, with intensity that shatters all the women underneath him but they still come back for more for his touch, his magic stroke. Non who have been touched by him have ever resisted or those who have were swallowed by the tide that was his fury. Yet his heart is gold and he cares more than he expects as his gifts last eternity and from the sweetness of it,  just a moment.

I Climbed a mountain, 
I Stood by the clif,
My cloth fell off of me without hesitation,
The world was under my feet and for a moment there,  I was it's goddess
I Waited for the breeze to reach me,
And raised my hands over my head
Stretching them as if giving the universe a hug
Breathing everything in
I Felt my soul excite
I Closed my eyes and sensed with all my other organs
'Don't fear the wind,' something in me said.
'Let it push you to the edge,  to the very edge'
My favorite music was playing in my head and I screamed it out my lips. 
"I got my red dress on tonight
Dancing in the dark, in the pale moonlight
Done my hair up real big, beauty queen style
High heels off, I'm feelin' alive"
And I felt alive
My heart exploded
my head contemplated the possibility of Lana doing the same thing as she wrote this song,
And I loved her for it.
It really was a beautiful summer time sadness.

When I say I want to touch you,  I don't mean the physical entity you're disguised as.
I want to touch the heart that beats the love out of you and in to me.
I want to touch the soul that is as broken and heavy as a cloudy sky.
I want to touch your sadness,  where the real you started forming.
I want to touch your mind so I can finally find the secretes to your thoughts.
I want to touch the rare moments when you finally laughed a heart filled laugh.
I want to touch your sight to understand how you explained all the books you tell me about.
I want to touch your blood so I can feel where all that poetry comes from.
I want to touch the essence of who you are so I can make us in to one person.

I just really want to touch you.

Memories exceed the bounds I have made,
They torment the leisure of my head;
It's the fright that occupies,
The dread that ignites,
And all for a peace that can't be held,
Or a love that can't be gained;
Hope depletes in a given time,
When the dread is full to the brim,
No matter how well we seem,
There is always a limit to the dream;
Of these fragment or the chasm.
And of moments I fantasize,
Where the white and bright meadow,
Fill the holes in my shadow,
Of the torment i've created,
From all thoughts palpated,
Yet I wish in the end,
I rest on golden sand,
And it swallows me up,
While furns decorate it's peak,
Because then shall it be,
The instant I am free.

‘Death is a beautiful thing. Death is a horrible thing.’ I thought as I lay there, the steak knife still gripped in my right hand. I was wet from the blood that escaped my veins, engulfing me like a mothers caress. Why was it hot? How could it be hot emanating from a cold heart? It was a revelation, a strange revelation. “Ice is your heart,” they said. “Stone is your heart.” They said. How wrong they were. The gashes I made from finger to forearm were now a dull throb, the burning had subsided. Peace was coming to take me. A peace like I’ve never felt before. A true rest. I laughed. Blood spurted out of the wide wound. Warm blood. How beautiful it was, the crimson of it sparkling with an otherworldly light.  How precious. How wasteful, like the life I’ve lived. I was weak now, so weak. It was time, time to leave. I wanted to look at myself right about now. Was I beautiful now? Would all the people that told me so think it at this moment? Would I still be precious to those that told me so after I was blue and drained? Would I still be gorgeous after the essence of my being was striped from me and I was a bloated mess? Would you love me after I was gone? Would you remember me? Would you think back to the moments we’ve had after you’re married and gray? Or would I just be a fleeting soul amidst the wave of countless faces? “Did I love you?” you might wonder. I’d say you were the only one I loved. I wished the force of the love I felt for you would be powerful enough to keep me here. I was wrong. I love you, but I could not live for you. But I will still love you as I am dragged to my grave. I will love you as sand is forced over my coffin. And I will love you as my soul is hauled to the pit by merciless hands to pay for my sin. Who else could love you to the end?