The name was Lucifer

 Why is it so hard to tell you I’m way you deserve so much to hear? Why can I simply not convey these feelings for which I have held since the first day I met you, so that it becomes more clear crystal when doubt clouds your mind?

Romance is such a perplexing thing, it is a wonderful bliss of rambling emotion and pure ecstasy wrapped all into one perfectly orchestrated bow. It is that small cherry on top of your sundae that compliments all the rich and delicious tastes contained within.

Love has the great ability to iverserate and cripple a person, driving us to perform the most diabolical, outlandish actions, things we would never do in a sober state of mind. I say that, because this amazing and dreadful feeling is the best of both worlds, it is the universe’s most widely used mind altering substance, one that you cannot simply buy on the corner and a drug that has reached tens of millions of years’ worth of addiction. How can I become sober again? I continue to wrack and scratch my brains over this, yet I attempt with so much haste. I want to be free of this awful demon, while at the same time, I want to drowned in a experience so beautiful.

My soul takes the beating with an open and fully willing smile, embracing the sun as well as the storm. When you are buried in this treachery, nothing that girl does is wrong. She simply cannot be. This is the essence of perfection, the model of debauchery, this muse is pulling me right toward the rocky shore and I do not care. My only hope, my single solace, is I will crash this ship I am sailing on so high, into the cliff and be at her feet for the remainder of my life, gazing deeply into the mystifying labyrinth of her beauty. Even in this small jillion, i am in her presence, and just that minuscule bit of assiduity is ever more than gratifying.

 They say the heart is a heavy burden to be weighed down by, it is in fact a near catastrophic virus of the human soul. It is the one area of our spiritual self that can hurt the physical organ itself so immensely, you may very well suffer at the hands of a broken heart. She is a cold being that witch is, so watch where you set that fragile heart of yours. I stay in a constant, almost never breaking gaze yet I know she does not know as little as my forefront cortex of feelings for her. I am addicted to her cocaine like pheromones, in fact her mere presence is that of a rush, the most pure all over your body burst of elation.

I could write about her until the literal end of my time, and why? You almost begin to feel as if there is not a single person on the face of this earth that deserves such a loyalty from you, as if that person you are yearning for does not and will never reciprocate your infatuation. That is the awfully strange transformation that love is thought, it starts as a dream and as a nightmare. Love is hate, and love is gold; love is awake and love is wrought. We inject ourselves in a passionate journey of somber joy and petty infirmities.

There is a story I often think of in terms of love, one of a former angel. The name was lucifer and he was ornately good; nobody is born bad, rather bad people, devastated people are made. We not only within the realm of our own mind but in the mind of others. Investment in love is existing so deeply with in the mind of another, it ultimately shapes yours forevermore.

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