Perhaps it was this feeling that originally drove humanity to create gods.
Perhaps we have always burned with a desire to love
So terrifying and so powerful that to bestow it on another living creature became...
The first sin.
Perhaps we needed a safe, indestructible being to worship,
To croon to in the night,
Whose face we could never touch but could yearn to unabashedly,
Whose hands we could never kiss but perhaps pretend they cradled us,
Whose love we could never lose because it was in fact our own reflected back.
It is a lonely love. It is a love that...
Maybe I can understand how wars were fought,
Maybe I can understand the FEAR,
The longing all wrapped up in belief, that could create such loyalty, such blindness, and such cruelty.
There is a need in us that can only be satisfied by gods,
Because on earth, in truth, it cannot be satisfied at all, and we are too maddened and too terrified by that knowledge to face it.
Better to love somebody who cannot be touched,
Who cannot be heard,
Who cannot die, or leave, or change, or fail.
(Who cannot live, or arrive, or stay, or succeed)
Somebody who cannot love back.
Whose proof we will never demand because it cannot be given, and we know it.
We choose to love something that we will never see,
Not because it fills us up
Not because it makes us complete
But because you can't lose something you don't have.

A choir of wolves
Dwells within my heart.
Can you hear them sing?
They're singing
To you.
Whatever your thoughts on the matter
Whatever your hesitations and limitations
Something in me is for you
And I know you know it
And I know you need it
And I hope
You listen
Because I don't care what you give me or don't, but...
This? This song?
This is yours.
Please take it.
Listen.
Listen, and grow.

'You're sad,'* he stated as though it was a sure fact. Like he had studied her happiness and measured its authenticity.

'Why would you say that?' she replied defensively.

'Because all those smiles you've given since you walked through that door...have been fake.' He said.

She froze mid turn as if she had been caught red handed, 'How could you know that?' she whispered.

'I know what you look like when you're happy', he said softly. 'You tilt your face and your smile stretches in a race towards your ears. A crinkle around your eyes appears like the stars in the night.' He told her about a person she never knew. One who had conversations between her eyebrows as she spoke, her hands danced as they spun and caressed the air. He weaved a character so familiar yet unknown.
'You're not happy Georgia,' he said sounding desperate. For what she didn't know.

He stopped speaking and the silence deafened between them. Neither of them moved and all of a sudden a chill ran down her spine as she dragged in a lungful of oxygen, her breathing jagged as it pounded and echoed in the room once creaking of the floorboards beneath them. Not a car drove by outside, nor did the wind howl as her heart drummed louder than the ticking clock. She knew that he had crept into the depth of the heart she swore she guarded so fiercely and made a home amongst the crevices unnoticed. Somehow she didn't realise that he had helped her fill in the cracks with him still in there. He was the cement that soldered her broken bits whole. She would do anything possible of her to make this man happy, just as he had made her smile with a genuineness she never knew existed. So as he awaited her reply she continued drying the dishes as if this conversation never happened.