I feel as if I'm in a cloud, a cloud of mist and heavy hearts. I have never wondered to lonely, yet so close to the ground as I have in these passing days. I had once lived in a beautiful bliss. An innocent, soft adoration with a flutter; one that I can see now was never fully appreciated. I had lived there with my One. My Person. My heart. We had loved in times that we could not see how we would drift apart. And I had loved in times that I could not see him drifting further than me.

It is very hard, but I must force myself to not long for what was. Even though it was breathtaking. So literally. It was slow, soft, enveloping, scintillating. It was first love. A small carnation, because they are my favorite. We must learn to look forward into the future, unlike the listful ways we had before. I will learn a new love, one harrowed by time but truer for the beatings.

That we can walk through these doors with the keys to each others hearts, instead of giving up at each heavier door, will be our greatest achievement in love. But let this also stand true in your mind: No door may be moved with only half a heart. Together we make our own.

Angel,
fallen from on high, to shine ethreal light, just above the face of I who am blessed.
That your decention is made harrows the mind,
but blind bliss covers any reason like sugar.
That you look on me with those golden cloud eyes,
precious is your gaze,
is magic in itself. It's something that had been impossible in the flightiest dream of the latest night.
What my own eyes behold, as much as such things may hold burning beauty,
are more thankful than I could ever hope to say.

Darling Angel,
could you find it in your own to gift me with your words?
Through the times that I've been graced with these pearls,
through the glamour of it all, I've begun to realize what your words are really like.
Dark, lush rose petals,
stumble and flow from behind your teeth,
filling your tounge with plump redness that soothes my ears,
and captures the curves and sways of my heart.

Like a sunrise or washing tide, this feeling that pulls at my throat and chest leaves me almost breathless, creating a bridge of tangible tension supported by our locking eyes. With each attempt to express what mortal words I may stutter, my breath leaves me just as quickly as I attempt to speak, building our silent bond.