torture-, my dear,
is what I live inside of
everyday.

To know
what it is I feel...
and to also know that I
can do nothing
about it,
nothing to stop it,
nothing to burn it out.

It consumes.

"They" say passion consumes
the Soul like flame to a candle's
wax.

How many souls do I own?

It has been ages
and ages
that I have loved you,
small aeons that look like
magic fireworks when viewed from
afar-
stars bursting or imploding
all manner of greens and reds
blues and yellows-
my God!

I will give you colors.


The waiting is the worst.
Counted time.
Counted exercises and tasks.

It is not a countdown.

"It is not a countdown."

No.
But it is waiting.
Not for him.
No.
For me.

For the things I still need to learn
before him.
For the changes that loom on the horizon.
For the moment
no,
THAT moment
maybe I'll be driving a car,
maybe I'll be lying in my bed, drifting off to sleep,
maybe I'll be mid-sentence in a conversation with a friend,
I don't know.

But I know the moment.
I know how it feels.

It is Archimedes and his fat legs,
overflowing the bathtub,
flooding the bathroom carpets,
Eureka
EUREKA
I have found it!

I remember my last and only
"Eureka!"
and the thing that I had found
was my own, stuttering heart,
beating hard and fast
for you.

Torture is knowing
your happiness
is always
just
out

of



reach