So as I sit here and ponder things, it has turned over to become Monday July 16th. Many thoughts have I in my head, but only one do i seem to dwell on. Not ten feet from where I type this, lay the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. It hasn't been easy for you to live with me for nigh a decade now, 1/3 of my life almost, this I know. it takes a strong soul to do what you have done. Who else will wipe the sweat from my brow and the tears from my eyes when the hell that greets each night becomes too much to bear? Who else will smile complaicently when I am dead set something will work and it doesn't? Who else could have given me the most preacious thing in my life?
I have labored over what to say for this special day and have come to a conclusion. Throughout the many ups and downs we have shared, I believed I loved you more than I ever thought possible. Upon stringent evaluation I have discovered this to not be the case. To say “I love you” comes to the tongue far too easily. It is a saying, used in ambiguity to refer to a slew of different people, or in some cases perpetuates a lie.
We share not love, a petty and simple notion in this world. My feelings have far transcended that infantile stage and have evolved to a stage I never thought possible. People die for love, dying is easy; it’s living for some one that is the hard part. Amy, I LIVE for you
As the young man stands viewing the situation that unfolds with eyes of a soul older than most can fathom, feelings of distrust and anger rage in his heart. How does he approach this? One could say you reap what you sow and Oh how he longs to reap! After all that is what he does right? Damned to forever trundle on, devoid of the devotion and compassion granted. His mind plays upon the anthropomorphic scenario played out before him. It goes as thus;
The swan of his desire cavorts with the young stag tall and majestic derived from the oaken grove. Through out countless existence does this dance play. The gnarled and scarred boar watches as his heart strings are tugged this way and that, longing to strike out. “Why does this cosmic game endeavor to strike me?” He asks. Silence is the answer to his quarry. And they wonder why he defies them. Around and round the swan and stag reel in the heavens that are the universe in his collective conscience. Sure his den is her nest. Yet she has another nest perpetually in the soul of that stag. Loathing and disgust consume him.
“Why the stag” he says “Stags they run and hide, but me I fight”. As if in answer the trees sigh to him. He lay down to sleep and, as if some divine spear was hurtled into his heart, he awakens and at once knows.
“Of Course!” he exclaims. It is a matter of station, it always has been. “I am gnarled both inside and out, twisted by my fear and hate!!” Beauty deserves beauty he muses, and so his resolve set, strikes out into the shadows.
The young man jolts to consciousness and sighs. Gazing out at his most precious of treasures he hardens his heart once again. He kisses his inspiration with fondness and tender care, taking his leave. He dons his armor, gathers his shield, and starts to reach for his sword. “No” he says. “You shall remain here.”
With iron will and steadfast resolve, he leaves his prized sword, wading into the fray with only his fists, so as to let it decide whom should truly wield it.
