...And I wish

...And I wish to be perceived mad with love as I continue to hold on. But I am not mad, rather I am sad with it and sick from it as I dwell in the physical world and ignore the gifts given to me that continue to live here forever. Never to lay eyes on my beloved, a tragedy surely, though I can not deny the change wrought in me, the beauty added to me nor can I say I have never loved or known love. This war does not abate as I hold out for the pleasures of more, of now, of here. The promise of more to come on my Beloved's lips not spoken in intangibles and my base side grasps and cluthes at tomorrow like a hawk clinging to its master's forearm. It is the not knowing that wages this fierce war. To know I would never see my Beloved... I would treasure my gifts, mourn my loss and let this precious light live through me, casting accolades in my thought and deed. And I wonder in this moment where you are, what is keeping you from me. I do not want to be standing on the corner of the Cinema forty years from now wearing a red dress and a smile, wondering if this is the day my Beloved will come to me. It is perhaps selfish, but then, so is love in its purest form...