jinkmaiden

I remember the sound of your sigh, lips parting ever so delicately for that slight exhalation of breath. I remember seeing endless depths to get lost in hiding behind your eyes. Brilliant mirth sparkles in those eyes - the ones I try so hard not to stare into; the ones I dare not look into at all for fear of being discovered. Sadness lingers in them as well but one glimpse of your smile - slightly crooked and almost wolfish - is enough to banish all memory of what words like sorrow mean.

You hide in the shadows of my dreams, lurking in the corner as if waiting though I don't know what for. You do not know me, not as you seem to in dreams, and you have no desire to. I am imperfect and too perfect, too old and too young all at once. Intangible desire and confused thoughts are enough - I think I've always preferred deprivation and fantasy to anything reality could bring me anyway.

This is not the first time I've found my words inadequate to describe the depth of my confused emotions. Despite all the epic and beautiful things I've put to words, despite all the lovely moments captured in ink on snow white ivory, I fail to trap the words that would describe the things trapped in my chest making my breath short - all those things that speed up my already racing heart.

I am the shadow of a writer fair, ink for blood and on my skin. A faded shade, sometimes, but a brilliant light in the darkness just as you are. My only sorrow in all of this, in never being able to tell you of the words trapped inside my head when I think of you, is that two bright lights should know one another and yet never will. Most days it is enough to know that there is another out there who shines brightly in the darkness when all others succumb to that fading of light.

My eyes are older than they should rightly be and it is not that I have seen or done too much but more that I have felt too much in too short a time. There is a strength in that, however, and I see that strength in you as well.