Thursday, December 29, 2005
I wonder if I will dream again tonight. That wispy wavy dream of lightness, of gentleness of being, of strange lands and unfamiliar faces, of..
Of her, of her.
It has been two long years by now, and I know I am not some desperado nor casanova wannabe. So I shock myself when my heart takes a turn not dissimilar to a faint seizure, whenever I think of her flowing black locks, her eyes that speak volumes, her lips that part in generous smiles, and most of all, her quiet humility and piety of heart.
I know I might expose myself to ridicule after this post, but it is an issue that I have to address. Sigh. Can you hear my heart wrenching.
Of her, of her.
It has been two long years by now, and I know I am not some desperado nor casanova wannabe. So I shock myself when my heart takes a turn not dissimilar to a faint seizure, whenever I think of her flowing black locks, her eyes that speak volumes, her lips that part in generous smiles, and most of all, her quiet humility and piety of heart.
I know I might expose myself to ridicule after this post, but it is an issue that I have to address. Sigh. Can you hear my heart wrenching.
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