a voice: perfect pitch, lovely tone, fitting tempo--a symphony for my soul
a silhouette: soft edge, warm hue, charming--a fleeting touch
a quiver: in anticipation, for you, for proximity
a sigh: for truth, which will remain...
a fact that you and I will never...
b.
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You will never know until your final moment of existence. In truth, no one ever waits that long. All the same no one ever forgets, things that remain with us always. A lost love, a lost lover, a lost moment in time held close as best we can with certainty knowing that it will soon be gone, but even so, we lie to ourselves, with the bitter knowledge that we are wrong, that that moment in time will last forever. Often times I wish the dreams I dream in the early hours of the morning would become more real than the life I live. Your piece is concise, a little sad, but I like it.
Sometimes I wish my dreams were reality. It never is. Here, I say never because, as far as I know, it is a matter of never. It's quite hopeless (in my current opinion), since someone I define as an essential part of myself chooses to redefine their role as a "never". in this case, I know them and they're here, but it's like an asymptotic mathematical function, we won't reach infinity together. Of course, I still somewhat lie to myself that whatever little bit of affection I receive, regardless of the form it comes in, is intentional and representational of some distant type of reciprocation.
Of course, it's still not the reciprocation that I hope to have for the type of affection that I give. But it's better than nothing.
To make it short, I -am- waiting 'til my final moment of existence, but I don't know how long I can wait.
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