Bodies are merely shells encasing souls:

The barrier of an external case prevents a world in which warmth and love could flow in between two wanderers of the Earth,

Which could mimic the snow falling and filling the small gaps within the pavement on a chilled afternoon,

Or the sun breaking through the clouds on an overcast day and streaking proudly across the floor of the sitting room,

Bold and unwavering.

I admit; it may fail.

I fear hurt in the same way that I stood with the sunrise each morning,

A bold man;though still a child inside,

Afraid that today would finally be the day that darkness came,

Cold and numb as I sat alone listening to the sound of my lover’s breathing,

Willing it to continue.

Is it the way of the world that lead her to alcoholism,

Or was it predisposed?

And upon her, an image of beauty blurred by disturbance:

Soft blue eyes and soft red lips-in fact, each and every part of her remained soft.

My vision glided down towards her hips, where there lied scars by the dozen in neat little rows.

Controlled and presice, apart from a few exceptions that crisscrossed over one other.

She flinched as she caught my gaze running down her body briefly, as if scalded by an ember that had escaped a fire.

Within the emptiness brought by time,

Little more than empty air existed between us.

And then one day across the field,

Where I sought money in exchange for ploughing crop,

A man in likeness to myself offered a firm hand,

Introduced himself as “Finn”.

His hair as soft as silk; his eyes as clear as rain:

In an instant, I knew that beauty would never be the same again.

In love with him I fell as we sowed and reaped the grain:

It was not his body that I desired,

Yet the safety that he offered as we exchanged stories of shared pain.

There was a hope that one day I would melt entirely, and that, in some way, I could remould myself around him: become a part of his being.

I never did, however;

For I never could have broken the heart of a woman who already bore so much hurt and shame.

But friends we became as we shared the burden of physical labour,

Among the strands of golden wheat as daylight drew to a slow and gradual decay.

I am the never ending child with an unrequited love,

And the never receding shadow behind every other man on Earth;

Yet this other worldly spirit in all his brilliance made me feel special.

And I have found him as I have found myself:

That golden haired beauty amidst the layers of nature and sky.

Love is neither man, or indeed, woman;

Yet a person.

At least now, I understand the nature of my owner.

Yes, it is closure I feel as I keep my heart guarded but my mind an open book;

This is my gift here on Earth.

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“It does not matter who you love, only that you do.”-John Lennon
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