I loved him, in a way that no song nor poem could describe. My love was of the peculiar sort, for it wasn’t a warm nor sweet one. No, my love for him was a dark one. Like the sea during the storm, it was turbulent, cold, and all consuming. Only once did I feel the warmth of his touch, as he took my hand and led me down the forest path, I felt a stirring of the soul, and in that instance I saw what only dreams were made of, but he let go too soon, and the dreams were fleeting ones. As quickly as he came, he left, and for six years, I often found myself wondering what might have been, had I only told him of my love. When again I saw him, I knew immediately that time had been cruel to him, his spirit gone, and that the love I once had was no more. It was dead, as dead as his eyes. No hope was left, and my heart fell silent, with my only peace being that he finally knew what it was that I once felt for him.

I'm sitting alone here, in the dark, with the computer monitor being my only source of light. The sun is fading outside, the end of another day here, the beginning of another day somewhere else. Such a fascinating world we live in. I try to take in the simple beauties of it as much as possible.