You went from my life right into my dreamsi can hardly tellIf im cursed or blessed I am sure things arent always as they seembut i drift awaymesmerized possessed.Memories i have uncertain and fragileIs what i have left and i have no peaceAt dawn fades awayall that i imaginei crave for your closenessi need more then this.Perhaps you are meant to guide and inspireto be ever timeless in the veil of mistflowing through my being in flaming desirethe one i cant reach and cannot resist.My darlinguniqueoutstanding perfectionso utterly complex you cant be recreatedI may be unworthy of your smallest fractionBut youve never lovednor anticipated.Every great passion is a work of fictionwhen we long for something that we cannot findSingle thought of you is like an addictionyetyoure not exaltedexcept in my mind.

The heartbeat is an irregular bell tolling the footprints create ammonite patterns in the snow they spiral in serpentine undulations toward a complicated centre of mass forming a beautifully inscribed hieroglyph the earth acting as papyrus. Its all signs and symbols reading the emotions of another is an art and tonight she lacks the imagination needed in order to be creative. Bewitching to behold wings tucked neatly into the back of a loose summer jacket his bare feet dusky and dusty tumble languidly toward her over the soft crumbling ground. Dawn finds her dreams more beautiful to inhabit than reality. To her it becomes more real than the bed sheets shes pulling close to her chest. As he approaches she continues to watch the invocation of her desire. Wherever he steps the snow flees its as if spring flowers from the very tips of his toes. She holds her breath as he slips his hand into hers leading her away from the top of the hill on which they are standing. They dont follow the path instead they tread boldly over willow roots twigs and fern leaves. Looking upwards in order to see the colour of the sky Dawn crosses her fingers for a shade of blue.

Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world. Quote from : The Critic as Artist