I shouldn’t have. As my spirit awakens and ascension begins; I now realise that this longing has less to do with “him” and more to do with myself. If not by chance we met; karmic calculations divine time and place. There is a method to this universal madness. As I sit here; the wind chimes providing dull noise to the otherwise peacefully quiet afternoon; a realisation weighs down, pressing on my throat and chest. Culpability for every transgression; every word uttered. There is a difference between wanting love and taking it. Giving love and receiving. For years I had wanted love, I wanted love so badly that I abused myself and others, allowed them to reflect their hate and insecurity through my eyes. The confidence he once promised (and delivered upon) has been slowly and systematically etched away leaving me once again to question my worth. It’s time that I walk away. I’ll pack my things, my thoughts, what identity that’s left; in search for peace and passion once again. For it is now apparent that the arms which held me tight were also chains that bound my soul. Let tears be temporary reminders that I still know how to feel. Let them cleanse and balance emotions; let them freely drain.

Eternally tied, stitched together with golden thread; glistening with transparency. Stalactite ordain the caved ceiling, dripping water into the thirsty mouths of all the greedy ants below. Another night of insomnia; or so it seems at least. For sleep fails to find eyes… eyes which are wide. A yearning? Perhaps... certainly not an obsession. Obsessions are dark and unnatural. This is energetic-fluid almost. I finally found the title of my last writing; I called it “Twin Flame.” Serendipitous I know, but how else could you possibly describe it? No rationality to it-at least not in the physical realm; oh, philosophical for sure. Could it be possible that the gods and angels play such vicious tricks? Methodically planting two people to meet-in a very peculiar, almost non-eventful way, only to have their gaze meet and then ravage befalls their minds? Could it be a simple case of Freudian projection? Staring blankly into the quiet stillness, I feel almost as if I should have went to bed early... Although… as I slipped further into the abyss of his dark and worried nature-it felt as though I was somehow home at last. Safe, secure, and completely authentic. Nothing to hide; all laid bare with only him to mirror my deepest and most haunting imperfections. It’s been ten days since we last spoke-and thousands of kilometres lie loosely in between.