meant for pictures; just writing about them makes them feel cheap.Until they drink every drop needed till their soul overflows from inside of them and turns to envelop them in sweet, fearful security…the blatant intrigue—unquestionably unfathomable.

It doesn’t hurt-but it pierces right here. I wish I could cast my being to be only a part of this mist—in a million ways I feel as if I can hold it—touch it—possess it. In a million ways I feel as if I am a thousand years separated from it and that I will receive a bruise on my eyes simply for looking at it.
It—this fragment of an image of You—You whom I long for more that sentries long for the dawn, yes more that sentries long for the dawn.

