The turning back, in love and in life
To whisper to you that I may love you could never be.
To picture my ideal life, I could scarce envision my luck grown more enchanted than having you, possessing you, worshipping you, then setting you free to be just as you are, so that I might stand next to you, cherishing you, curling into your embrace as we fall asleep together... In your divinity I'd lay, 'til a deep drought passed and healing rain trickled lightly upon my heated brow whilst you sang, your true beauty unrivaled, uncontested and absolute in power and evidence. To learn from you, to discover you, to engage with you about your deepest dreams and desires, to touch you, to feel you, selfish that I am to simply keep you for as long as I could hold you...
But I cannot utter it, lest you recoil. I turn back from my wonder and I think amazed, that you should ever worry about anything, so perfect and glamorous are you. You are so pretty, I cannot convey it. You are so genuine, I cannot believe it. You are so much greater than you ought to be. I daren't even believe for a second I deserve to touch you, much less have you...
The turning back in love is as cruel a tangled beast forsaken, my eyes affixed with no mirror from yours. I linger, I long. I forgive, though it harbors a dark angel. I seek solace in fire and hate, which in destructive power may burn away the stems and petals of my love's bloom.