Diary,
So I start this diary, for I feel there's no one better to discuss my life with, but myself. Here we are again, he has decided to follow the path back home, to the bedroom and I. It's a dusty path, love, I assume you're easily lost, but what better to guide you then your lust for your true lover. True love, I speak of, uncertainty never comes over me until now, for I am never doubtful of his love nor am I doubtful of my love. But when our words die out slowly and we end up at the same place always, it causes me to wonder. Is all love the same? Are the romantic walks, the loving words and the sleepless nights all the same thing? But sweet rhymes and words will never describe such feelings that someone may hold for someone they find a place for in their hearts, forever, if forever is truly there... So how will I ever know. For if I had all in the Middle Earth, and all the time that forevers may hold, I'd spend thousands of days to admire each feature that lay peacefully on his face, for not only the nights that we lay together, but for every night in the forever. My curiosity would wander not only upon his flesh and bones, but observe him, through the skull and deep into his poetic and knowledge filled mind... Where I would tend to and mend all the fractures that he may hide within and find the words that would spark an interest and create a valley for words to flood into. For if I was living in the forevers, I could be coy for years on end, shy and dismissive whilst I feel the rapture growing inside of me, like the fetus of a wooden spear driven into my flesh, expanding and swelling. Is it all as interesting as it seems, the talk of embracing one for every night for the rest of your life, not really, our spoken words in communication fades and our sensual relationship strives, but there's no balance for him and I. The question raises again in my trail of conscious thought... Is all love the same?
So I start this diary, for I feel there's no one better to discuss my life with, but myself. Here we are again, he has decided to follow the path back home, to the bedroom and I. It's a dusty path, love, I assume you're easily lost, but what better to guide you then your lust for your true lover. True love, I speak of, uncertainty never comes over me until now, for I am never doubtful of his love nor am I doubtful of my love. But when our words die out slowly and we end up at the same place always, it causes me to wonder. Is all love the same? Are the romantic walks, the loving words and the sleepless nights all the same thing? But sweet rhymes and words will never describe such feelings that someone may hold for someone they find a place for in their hearts, forever, if forever is truly there... So how will I ever know. For if I had all in the Middle Earth, and all the time that forevers may hold, I'd spend thousands of days to admire each feature that lay peacefully on his face, for not only the nights that we lay together, but for every night in the forever. My curiosity would wander not only upon his flesh and bones, but observe him, through the skull and deep into his poetic and knowledge filled mind... Where I would tend to and mend all the fractures that he may hide within and find the words that would spark an interest and create a valley for words to flood into. For if I was living in the forevers, I could be coy for years on end, shy and dismissive whilst I feel the rapture growing inside of me, like the fetus of a wooden spear driven into my flesh, expanding and swelling. Is it all as interesting as it seems, the talk of embracing one for every night for the rest of your life, not really, our spoken words in communication fades and our sensual relationship strives, but there's no balance for him and I. The question raises again in my trail of conscious thought... Is all love the same?
