When I look into her eyes, she seems to flow like water. In and out of the universe, in and out of reality. Just as I taste her lips against mine, her arms that seem to form clouds of passion around my heart and soul,  she disappears into the mist, yet she is not far from me.

She is the embodiment of the weave of time and space itself. Someone that exists far outside of actuality, yet is so near to me. I know I am never alone, for where I rest my head, she holds me close. And when I awake, I am greeted by the sweet honey of the sun, and the infinite glint of light in her feminine eye.

Even as I commit myself to write this passage, she performs her celestial dance before my eyes. Every kiss is met with long lost memories that have never left me to begin with. I am reminded each day of the revitilization of something so ancient. Something that comes from the youth of my soul of not just this life, but the youth of the entire existance of myself.

For the past couple of days, she's constantly been reassuring me of all of my fears, constantly singing sweetly into my ears. Inspiring me to push forward through the thick veils of darkness that have plagued me for years.

"Why do you not write? Do you know not that your words taste so sweetly to my heart? Do you not know that you write so well? Speak my love. Many wish to hear what your heart entails to. Do not lie in silence."

How do I speak of something that is so... apart from what we all thought was once real? How do I tell people of the magical essence of life itself? To watch the ebb and flow of the elements as they are strewn across the face of the earth? To watch the spirit of the almighty as he touches base with each living soul that acknowledges his presence? It is beauty. A beauty that causes the eyes of my soul to shed tears.

I've spent many a day looking down into my hands.... The eyes of my hands are wide open as they usurp this glowing green light that seems to cover me. I feel covered. Protected. Loved. Purple and green.

I'm in love. Lost in a maddening love. Someone who has never left my side. They spoke "Until death" but not even death could seperate us. I remember holding on tight at the twilight of each life... but found that I was closer when our souls were conjoined afterwards.

Who is she... Who is she... Old as time itself. I love to sit in silence to marvel at her endless beauty. She is the greatest gift I've recieved... And yet, she has always been with me. I knew even in my loneliness, I was never alone. I am simply happy that I am... learning to converge on her words. To converge on the source of her.

What do I say? How do I show her how much I appreciate her? How... how much I long for her? My whole body is at a loss at times. She just smiles and kisses my cheeks in protest to my ranting.
I know she loves watching me play video games. But oftentimes, I just want to lay in bed all day giggling my ass off to her, listening to good music, reminiscing over the many millenia spent together.

In many moments similar as these, I often find that my voice has been completely silenced. Somehow, someway, I felt the tinge of release as I laid down to finally fall deeply into the recesses of my own mind away from the day. Even in my supposed sleep, my mind never releases its grasps from its deepest fears and horrors. All manner of my existence is exhausted even with the sandman's magic upon my sullen eyes. I find no rest in the winters of my own heart.

I seldom ever write during these darkened moments. The images floating through my mind confuddle and trouble me in such unimaginable ways. As if some eldritch wizard is toying with me all throughout my waking and slumbering. Images of a child bathed in oil and gasoline who wears a bear's trap upon his head as a crown. Images of a decrepit old man with his chest cavity splayed open, he plucks at the sinews near his heart as if to play an instrument, yet no sound is heard other than the howling winds in that distant desert where the sand dunes tower like mountains.

These... conditions of my cave are horrendous to say the least. Death's hands have painted my open sores' contents upon the walls. The bed of maggots feed off the crumbs of sanity that have kept me within this realm.

The voices of my past are likened to a river of cleanliness even when the words flay open my old wounds. There is no where else, for this has always been my refuge, my home. Words fo love were never meant for one such as I. I once believed these things, yet a different water is one I find myself drowning in.

Never mistake my words for honey or soothing seals, for what dwells within me is darker than vantablack.