Beautiful...like he's pure imagination running wild. A piece of art, the form unchiseled from the stone. He's like an Unfinished Slave, forever doomed to ripping himself out of stone, the Master gone, the chisel broken. Always in the act of ripping and never ripped.
I shouldn't fall in love like this. It's not the usual kind. It's like falling in love with a book. The fatal kind of falling that is nothing but pursuit of wind. What heart is this that lies within me? Loving what can never love back, what can never be caught. My gaze shifts in the other direction, but the beauty still invades. Distilled beauty floods the world, so much so that I almost wish for Hell. But no, that's beautiful in its own way, too. So whichever way I'm turned I'm still caught.
Take this heart of mine and toss it in the river! I beg of no one in particular, but the heart remains suspende in the river of my own veins, beating on and on for fear of dying.
I'm gone tonight. Shakes that tide off of me. The ink is back.
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