I write for myself.
It's almost impossible to turn my pain into art when it hurts as terribly as it does.
I am on the very edge of growth, hardly a first step.
Every line I write, I can only think of those who lead me here.
Calling them lovers is like calling my best friend a dog.
Sure, he's a canine, but he is no dog. He is a best friend. To me.
Calling them lovers was once accurate, that's how I felt, but now;
They're more. She- Is more. More than the ones I daydream of.
More than the ones coating the walls of my nightmares.
They are not people. They are not women. They are not loves. They are, unexplainable.
I showed Belle my soul. She showed me hers. And we encompassed each other. One step ahead.
Faith too. But she was always two steps back, never forward. And she didn't really love me.
And the most beautiful name, the one society shortened and butchered to simply "Kit-Kat."
She- was more than a fascination. She was an enabler. Like being the target guiding an arrow,
She lead me, kick-started my life. She was the first.
Or at least, this declining helix spiral I call my current living condition.
Now this winter has come, an annuality to when it started.
I was laughing and learning her gorgeous name at this time last year.
I remember walking around that empty playground awaiting her responses to my petty flirts.
All was well. But I was too slow, and he was too entrancing, mature, for her.
She chose- and it wasn't me she was looking at- it killed me.
I craved her. I dreamed her. I can still recall one specific, for I have it saved.
Here it is:
"I had a dream late last summer where I awoke in a white room in a comfy white bed.
The room had a window for an entire wall and outside I could see snow melting off of black,
naked trees which spread deep in to a forest of the same colors.
And that's when I noticed a beautiful white face with dark hair and two blue eyes.
She was just sitting there in light blue underwear and a white tee-shirt and she looked at me and smiled.
And I moved over and kissed her and I lay over her just staring into those chilled moons for eyes of hers for the longest time."
"And that for me, is nirvana."
And that for me, was nirvana.
Her and I. Winter. Purity, love. Cold and warm. White, blue, black and brown. The colors us.
God- I miss that. Those dreams. Those fantasies. Getting nearer to that, her voice and laugh.
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