I've been hardwired for disappointment but what is stranger, still, is that the disappointment becomes far less disappointing than what the fear of disappointment actually conjures up en route from head to combative tongue.

so, in essence, my fear is far more powerful than the worst-case-scenario and often times, the two go hand in hand. self-fulfilled-prophesying. I do not want to take part in you any longer. I will not.

the urge to write lingers somewhere here. I stumble around for it, desperately groping at emotions where I think I've found them. and when it occurs to me that I have found something, I try like hell to hold on long enough that I may produce something, anything...

but it is fleeting and its memory gone quicker than it came.

And so,I find often, that my hands are clenched tight..but holding onto nothing.

love is the only thing big enough to make me fight my demons. ward them off. wave them goodbye. send them packing.

darkness, you, you mean nothing to me when this man lying by my side every morning with his mouth slightly upturned opens his big, kind eyes to look at me and smile...

when the very scent of him provokes an out pour of emotion, be it suppressed, or shown through physical gestures.

when he puts his hand in mine and my entire existence warms to his very touch.

there is nothing like it in the whole world. nothing could replace it. nothing comes close. nothing can touch it.

absolutely nothing.

I love this being so completely that his happiness becomes priority.

I see us in fields of overgrown grass, hands clasped, laughing under the sun all day. intoxicated with desire. and always reaching out to hold that comfortable place where even when the spell wears off...we love each other all the more for the mere fact that we're not gods or heroes...for the fact that we're simply humans with a lot of love to share.