I musta been distracted when they handed out the card called love.  Chasing the fluttery beauty of a butterfly, I'm sure.  It's in my nature to wander… to seek the joy and the wonder of life's passing moments.  But the spring time turned to summer and the summer then faded into fall.  With that, came the winter and a deep dark slumber where my muse has slept peacefully, for far too long.  Or perhaps it was I that was hiding from the shadows of the harsh mid-life sun, not wanting to continue…

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It is the feeling of being exposed fully that draws one in. Intimately, physically, mentally bare and in complete and utter danger of being devoured; ripped to shreds; smashed into a million quadrillion teeney tiny shards. Teetering over the dark abyss there's a moment of weightlessness when limbs wound tightly around anothers search for any unconnected surface of flesh to press against. Time stands still and offers a moment of protection. This is living in the moment. This is love.

Our intertwined flesh, pressed and molded together, had been worth the risk of consumption.  Sunday Morning Memory:  A moment to cherish now consisting of fracture pieces -- an optical illusion -- an oasis of deceit.  Her face replaces mine in those memories -- that perky little blonde thing skipping down your stairs, lightly passing me by, completely unaware of the existence of you and I.  Sunday Evening:  The Burden of Knowledge.  Her Sunday Mornings spent wrapped in your arms remains…

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Lying in a heap on the shower floor, she watches the trickle of water etch a path down her forearm before pooling momentarily in her elbow.  She ponders the veins below the surface and wonders if her blood would take the same course.  Suicidal isn't the right word to describe her current state of mind.  For it's not her death she seeks but rather the end of her current existence -- the repetitive patterns, the familiar outcome, the cruelty that causes honesty to be treated as a crutch, passion… Continue