I will now be quiet and still in this ambience of populated silence. I now feel ready to express their certainty that there is no beginning nor middle nor end in the howling of the fire illuminating our hearts. There might not be a clear route of escape from the flames, nor a slit in the arteries for us to slip through and join the myriads of oxygenated bubbles that reach the entries and exits of our bodies.
The despair of non returned love, like a fallen seagull in the poisoned sand, tears us apart. I would love to see the brave and infuriated enamoured sea brawling at last, retrieving and letting go of us sea tourists who lost the way a long time ago, but that's not going to happen; neither will our night time readings dispel from our dreams after incising in our skin the blueprint of their spell.
She doesn't love you, but you keep on writing this bildungsroman that places her as the centre point of your education.
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