A Love Story

I was once told that I was not known, not known by the person who loves me so dearly. That dark comment frightened, and intrigued me. The person, oh how they were angry and bittersweet. They seemed lost, confused, hopeless. But can I blame them? Such feelings intertwined in their life, feelings that they say I cannot feel. But they are wrong, for I feel them. I wonder myself, why is it this way? Why can’t I open my arms to this person, and let them cuddle in. I suppose it is the fact that they also once told me that I was not the one. Oh!, how they felt for me, but the true love, My Flame, was not there, nor was theirs. To read this for most, is a mess of confusion, but for her, it is all the sense in the world. To get lost in her would be exhilarating, but her soft breath on my cheek would not be as comforting. For I wish it would work, dear stranger, the stranger I know so well. The curtain I hide behind, it drowns me in confusion of my own sanity. Making the ordinary extraordinary, and the usual unusual. As I said, the flame, My Flame, is the flame that burns, and the fear of losing this flame haunts my imagination. No, you would not dampen it, but me. I would kill My Flame. Getting to interwoven in the artwork of your personality hurts the loss more than ever, which is guaranteed to happen.