As in all ends, I find myself accompanied by the soul and mind.

Their voices are the notes to my paper and the lyrics to my song.

In an ironic sort of manner, the die hard romantic sits quietly alone.

The one always looking in the depths, wondering where their one lies.

I’ll reach, but only to a fingers tip do I arrive.

After so many years, I can’t even remember the feeling of you next to me.

I used to be able to close my eyes and be there, if only for a moment.

I suppose the wind of winter days takes with it the comfort of your embrace.

Remnants of love float through the fresh morning air as I smile towards the summer sun.

No longer do we run through the forests like in our youth, the cool air flowing through my long brown hair, your smile bringing me all the warmth I ever needed.

And yet, the years fly by.

Oh how they fly.

Our wrinkles deepen, and our souls weakin.

Yet, we smile in remniscence.

We’ll always be the hopeless romantics sitting quietly alone wondering where our one lies.

I miss you.

Nobody ever seemed to be outside, but Lost continued to hope that perhaps at the pool there would be a sign of civilization.

The generic look of all the other buildings seemed like a  taunting joke to her.

Her walk was one of dragged feet and hopeless searches.

Hours passed and she found herself surrounded by people.

Prescence? Yes.

Connection? No.

She knew she was completely disconnected from these people and their way of life.

You know you’re alone in a room full of people when you can hear all their conversations at once and still pay attention to each of them at the same time.

She listened to the two young girls in front of her converse:

“Yeahhhh, I knoooo, I so made a list for my family of what I will be wanting for Christmas, I’m sure i’ll fax it to them about a month or two before, my new car will have to be bought.

The young girl replied back:

“Yeahhhh, totallyyyy, ummmm I don’t know, It’s hard having two cars though, cause like this morning I totally didn’t know whether I wanted to take the Avalanche or the BMW.”

Lost rolled her eyes at this remark and continued reading her book.

Lighting a ciggarette on her balcony she thought perhaps that contact with the human race for now should be put off.

She didn’t yet know why, but she was sure that some more hours spent alone in her mind would conjure up some form of good reasonning.

No thoughts or repercussions,

Just the quiet, yet lively sound of my heart beating, and my lungs breathing.

My writing is nothing.

My art? Impressive only to the masses that approve at quick glance.

My soul? Disapproving and profusely rebellious.

Hidden.

Shown at rare occasions where vulenerability doesn’t play its typical role.

I’m a writer. A painter. A dreamer, lover, and non-returnable 30 days after purchase.

Good god.

Somebody make some lemonade, my brain hurts and my ankle isn’t doing great either.

The petite couple of birds sing a tune of hurry to the room of redemption, before these years pass, and this skin wilts.

Looking into the eyes of a friend, the sudden dawning of pointless direction alludes her.

The mind takes her on a stroll of the so-called memory lane.

” You’re beautiful ” – James Blunt.

” Goodbye, my lover ” – James Blunt.

”  Hey There Delilah ” – Plain White T’s.

They walked through the forest one afternoon. A beautiful branch in arch form, created by nature itself.

The sun set, and his lips upon hers, he sent her on her way, into the world.

Rejection, a sweet gift premiered at an early age.

She adored, but mutual, it was not.

And then, another song began, a song that lasted days upon days.

A song that repeated throughout the years, at times, skipping a beat or two.

Sharing dreams, love existed, for a short time, it made its presence, if only, briefly.

Perhaps the length of daily routine ruined it, perhaps it was not meant to be, perhaps many souls search for love in all the wrong places.

Escaping the lie she kept locked away safe, finally, the lie was no more.

It was as if the soul had been in an extended slumber.

Although the circumstances were of extreme hypocrisy, they were meant to be.

Too many coincidences made it the most beautiful deceit known to man.

A desire so great, kilometers were traveled just for an epic embrace.

She lived in those few hours more than she had in all previous years.

Destiny would have it that distance would separate them for what seemed an eternity.

The irony of finding love in short term circumstance bewildered her soul constantly.

Natural fears rose, it would not last, he would move on, and her soul would once again break like a glass box.

She still hopes, although reality scares her, she still hopes.

Natural instinct intertwined with passionate feelings of attachment and the need, desire, and utter desperation of not seeing life without someone are quite lovely experiences.

“There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it’s time to face the truth,
I will never be with you.”

“Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
‘Cause I saw the end before we’d begun,
Yes, I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.”

“Hey there Delilah
Don’t you worry about the distance
I’m right there if you get lonely
Give this song another listen
Close your eyes
Listen to my voice, it’s my disguise
I’m by your side”

The melody continues, and as the life deepens, and the feelings progress, onward
does the melody sing its tune.

Foolhardiness makes its home, the absence of desire.

Well known fact it is, that something is there, eating away at her soul.

The fake facade of smiles and happiness is getting old and worn out, harder and harder to hide the sheer dissatisfaction.

Watching the plain fields pass as if the tide in oceans and waters, a sigh wanders into the abyss.

This event avoided numerous times, even discarded with the thought that “this too shall pass.”

Something inside breaks, and the enlarged wave of constant suppression makes small drops
of warm water.

These walls are so cold, so white, so without life.

The pressure to fall silent is becoming quite the strain and as she is not
content with anything the thought of incompletion frightens her.

What if she is forever lost?

Lost in a world of confusion and never to fulfill the sense of security she so passionately
longs for.

Where do all the stories go? All the memories? All tears and laughter?

Is there purpose? And if so, does she create it?

Or does the defiance of tyranny suspect a victory?

This journey is long, and far, but it is one with great ambition.

Soft tears will again hide under the soft blanket of falsehood.

Morning will continue to come, and the sun with ironic pleasure will shine on.

This is the life and this is the time.

Leaves fall, flowers wither, and life diminishes.

This flower is growing slow, but strong.

Slow, but strong.