"Memories of another life fill my thoughts. They tantalize my dreams. I remember most clearly a face I cannot see. He was kind and gentle, with a strength unrivaled. In his embrace, the universe of my soul was led to peace. I remember his cascade of raven hair that tangled with my silver locks to resemble the night sky. To onlookers, we appeared as a fairy tale. Our passion was as real as the sun, and matched in intensity only by the strength of our love.
Where I felt lost, unable to find a trace of myself, he appeared. He was always there with me. Warm and comforting, he became a part of me. My shadow. My anchor.
Tragedy struck, and we were separated. Forces beyond out control found me in a new body, with only vague feelings of something missing. As this new body grew, I could recall more and more. The way his voice calmed the storm inside of me. How his touch left a trace of fire on my icy skin. I see him in everything now.
As I search for him, the void left behind aches. It trembles with loneliness and heartbreak. I've mistaken so many for him. Each time I see a new aspect of a person, I search unrelentingly for more similarities. The way they speak, the way they treat others. The little mannerisms they have. Once, I found someone so much like him that I was willing to accept the possibility that I'd never find him. This new love of mine was strongest I had felt in this life. Strong enough that I didn't mind if my first love was even real or not.
But I was merely a plaything to him. A fallen angel indeed. Beautiful and charismatic, and deceitful. Capable of sewing the most beautiful fantasies, I believed his lies for far too long. Now, as I discover the depth of my injury, I fear that I cannot ever love like that again.
I met a kinder soul, and I was quickly drawn to him. After three years of pain, I felt a familiar burning. Though that love has no future, it gave me hope. Now all that is left is to continue my search. Perhaps I might not recognize him, but maybe my heart will."
View User's Journal
The Mind
Mainly a record of my more interesting dreams that I was able to remember after waking up. (Apparently my uncontrollable confessions, as well. In the form of poetry. All to the same man.)
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