I run for pain, the excruciating burn of desire. I burn for the exquisite absence of thought.
You; the girl in the pigtails, the one with the masks, the hidden knife; we are fading into nothingness, like the prettiest of sunsets- fading into the next, the next one, the one after, until there's nothing left of us.
A moment of both celebration and mourning, of the dreams you have lived and those futures not realized; of the masks of the past and the veil of the future; of the passing of yesterday, and the inevitability of tomorrow.
Take my hand, and I promise you art. You will be the canvas of my prose. I'll dip my pen into the ink of your eyes, and engrave myself onto your heart.
Perhaps for all our worries about our individual existence, we are indeed nothing more than one among many. A single artery of a heart, pulsing and throbbing on impulses from our milieu.
The clock struck midnight and she was gone.
The truth is right before you, they say, but they’ll never understand. You do not want to see. You do not want to know. You don’t ask. You don’t doubt. You close your eyes, and believe.
Whatever we did, we did for power. Money. Love. Beauty. Respect. Family. Power to control, to seduce, to create, to morph.
If my name is on the page, if my name is scrawled on some distant pillar, I can’t disappear. I was here.
It was just another day. I didn’t know you and you didn’t know me. We were two ships passing in the night, on different paths in the same waters. But in that fraction of a second, we were as close as two people could ever be.