Questions

I find myself searching. Watching every story, every event both real and fiction for similarities to what I believe happened. Do others suspect? Do they dream? Do they remember? Are they subtly revealing these beliefs through their actions and tales? Why do I want to find them? To know I'm not alone? To feel a connection to others? Do I really want them to remember, or keep the knowledge hidden? What part will they play? What part will I play later? Why do I become so restless that I have to get all of it out of myself?

Oh! To gaze upon serenity again... It will signal our undoing:

Legions of them, listening to his voice. The look of serenity upon their pallid faces. How can they listen, so dumbfounded, so innocent? They will follow him to the end. They will follow him to the end.

To Remember

Even after dawn the memories pull at me--a dream deferred. Their cloudy images have lost description and purpose, but the feelings linger. Determination, terror, sacrifice, unconditional love. Love. Words cannot do justice to that love. I was born to love. I killed and was killed for that love.

What do these memories mean to me? They feel like a security blanket, a beacon. An old friend. An aspiration. A hole, a wound, a tugging string. A soft wind, a blade of grass, calm water, the warmest touch. Harsh blades, harsher words, unjust intentions. They are balance. They are a world forgotten, yet they are a part of everything.

What was is now gone. What will be has been written.

Some feelings cannot be shared. I cannot express the longing I feel to be complete again and understand the past.

Messages

If I could know your heart,

Would it be as sweet?

Would you laugh as I hear?

Would you dream as I dream?

Would your love be as deep?

In the end...

You do not know my heart.

Every day is a message

To reach and dream

To prepare and live

To plan, yet wander blindly

In the end...

Fate has been written.