But you must keep it between you and me.

One day, walking through the forest, a woman met a man.

He was one without emotion.

He gently handed her a crumbled up note, his eyes were warm.

“Forever pondering, it’s this forest I’ll keep wandering.”

She looked up at him with confusion and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could let out a sound, he silenced her.

Scribbling frantically on his journal, he ripped out another note:

“Teach with the eyes. Speak with the mind.”

Looking down at her hands, she paused for a moment and took a deep breath.

Repeating in her mind the words she had just read, she brushed her hand up against his.

“Touch”, she said with a tremor in her voice.

Her hand slowly traced the line of his torn cloak, moving upward toward his neck and onto his face.

She traced the lines of his five o’ clock shadow and admired his ever so handsome features.

He stared into her eyes relentlessly as if attempting to deny the very beauty that sat before him.

In an attempt to look beyond her glowing skin, he closed his eyes.

But he could not help to still hear, and the pace at which her breathing rose made it that the more difficult to stay composed.

He was no longer one without emotion, and as she slowly dragged the tips of her fingers across his lips, she whispered:

“Lust”

Precariously, she moved her hands downward and placed them above his heart. She leaned in and placed her ear next to it, wondering if the heart of a man with no emotions had a beat. She had thought those kinds were obsolete.

Different than she thought it would be, it was much like a melody.

A melody that told the tale of pain and perception.

The song of hate, and deception.

Standing there,  he felt the sweet scent of her hair.

It was denial that he could no longer bare.

Her lips were ever so fair, and her soul was ever so rare.

Right then and there, it was for her that he began to care.

The leaves crumbled under their knees as they stood.

He put his hand on her heart and said:

“Love”

Smiling, she gently handed his crumbled note back to him.

He looked up at her with confusion and opened his mouth to speak but before he could let out a sound, she silenced him.

Placing her hands on him, she pushed him away from her and turned around.

As she walked, she turned and under her breath she said to him:

“Lost”

It’s a story I tell with glee, you see.

But you must keep it between you and me.

One day, walking through the forest, a man met a woman.

She was one without emotion.

She gently handed him a crumbled up note, her eyes were warm:

“Forever smirking, it’s this forest I’ll keep lurking!”

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.

Dust slowly floats into the thin air as objects are placed on shelves and cabinets.

She turns and looks over her shoulder, imagining a suave young man in a suit waiting for her to go to a Gala of some sort, perhaps an art exhibition.

Perhaps this was the beginning of something grand, the ambient light in her bedroom shined softly on her paintings and gave her a sense of new perspective.

Not all men could be conquered by her poise and alluding eyes, but surely one would come to fancy her.

For a moment, she wondered who could be living in the apartment next to her.

Perhaps a young painter with long hair and a low tolerance for cats.

Or maybe a struggling writer who smoked more than he slept.

She enjoyed the mystery and hoped to not find out who did reside there for as long as possible.

Imagination was always more entertaining to her.

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.