Alfred

Two of the same solitude make a silent set for a house of shadows aside from valleys of curiousness. However long the moment unraveling our experience as company is beyond me; I am a different body with much loss of memory. I never caught the uncommon sparks shining from caramel of milk and mocha complexion until now as this form ventures into a world without Alfred.

"Dearest me......."

"Dearer to anyone is your self."

Creases form a gentle bow devoted to worry for what is out of our control. Events we pass carelessly as personal preference amends dirt into garments of hypnotic blood; the appearance of a life giving source within.

Stallion without a name, host of thunderstorm momentum, gentility of a true gentleman, approaches me through a field of wind dancing beating rain; drums summon unseen war. We mutably communicate the violent potential of losing conscious to exist as wild horses trampling worlds inside a blade of grass; can we be tamed by a final thought?

"He looks like you......."

Voice of a soft wise empathy flows through air missing strikes of thin flint which ignite flames of memory burning inside of me; pair of tender clouds faintly hinting blue sky worries for me. Guilt overcomes a lady who cannot recall ever acting as one; maybe the scenario is far too beautiful to behold. Child of Virgo knits a complex weave of fallen stars touching human decision; she chooses an elusive route past the phase of discovery leading to misunderstanding greater than years of calendars. Does she ambiguously forebode this wane while the sun evades her once again?

"I would not know what to do without you. I feel as though your actions connect with mine to make a person which I......"

Longing possesses his deeds; waiting for words is a lesson of hunger.

"........cannot describe and I am not sure why."

We must be without to know what is within; we amuse ourselves ignoring appetite while starvation persists amongst chapels full of self deconstructing hymns.

I am the distance of darkness. I am an onlooker of a strange life. I am and I am not.

Many a night except for a single manifestation with Alfred, I lock myself inside chamber doors with one open; a secret door to the vessel of my heart is a room full of mysterious objects forming a peculiar pattern depicting the side which I know not how to face.

"Many daughters and no sons......dearest me."

"Are they as dear to you as you are to your self?"

"As dear to me as one can be."

"What is it like to be a father?"

"You will see.....you will see."

Somehow his exit is the only departure of invisible entity I cannot grasp. What became of us is what became of everyone. We do not know from knowledge but depth within; this is justice for letting go so easily. Unpleasant and pleasant are one in the same; if directly experienced we may finally be set free.