Monday, July 2, 2012

Dripping... And Waiting for My Love

     The farther apart we are, the closer I feel to you. The distance scorches my heart and burns internally and I can not help but to long for you. I keep longing for the feeling I've dreamt of. I long for what I wish we had.
      I'm stuck, thousands of miles away with a burning passion to mean more to you than I do but you are content with the life you lead.
     Every night, as I call, it is as I am waiting by your door step with a flaming torch in one hand and a rose in the other, waiting for you to open your doors and let me in. As I sit and wait, with each and every passing second, I desire, to one day see you outside your own doors drenched, even dripping in the gasoline of loneliness and misery. I replay in my head the hallucination of you begging me to love you, begging for a spark. I continuously imagine sparking your interest and igniting your heart with the blaze of my deepest love.
    My flame is what you are searching for. Why can't you see? The surrounding fumes must be extremely blinding to make you miss something so special, so bright. One strike of a match is all I need to light up your world.
     Still I stand here, days later but with no sign of relief. My knees have begun to tremble excessively and the rose petals are withering away along with my hope. With each and every passing night, the darkness seems to get even darker and all that remains of my torch is an embarrassing ember on the end of a smoky stick. Just as the fire has given up and left the torch behind, I too must take one step after another and flee from this "love" with a determined mind to never look back. As I walked, step by step the withered petals began to fall, leaving a trace of my trail behind. The shriveled, black remains fell just as dead leaves on a crisp autumn morning. As they fell, the newer, more lively leaves began to blossom in their place. For once I began to feel strength that was surely my own and it felt breathtaking, truly resounding.

      With you, I am nothing more than a burnt-out torch and some withered petals...

      Without you, I am much more than a burnt-out torch and some withered petals...

      I have come to realize that there is beauty outside of your doors...

      Thank you for never opening up and letting me in.

       I sincerely appreciate all that your frigid corridors have shown me. Their darkness has drawn me  closer to the light.
   

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