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Among these arenaceous matters

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And you cuddled my face in one summer night, sitting on your familiar chair, bandages over your eyes. I reached out to your hands, locked your dainty fingers with mine, melodious music played in my mind, sweet as the voice of yours that I'd never heard. My lady, my muse, could you feel my heart was beating for you?

Come closer. I followed your soundless mutter, almost of a hug with no distance between us, my disfigured body against your delicate one. A faint smile formed as my cheek reddened after the warm traces of your touches on me, touches I yearned for, touches I adored.

Feathery movements molded the curves of you lips, such pale petals on the pallid snow, I almost cried to an inaudible murmur of a nocturnal confession. Four muted words, six unhearable echoed within my whole room with each soaked into my mind.

Thank you for everything.

To the very end of me you conquered, my lady.

I love you.

No dear, don't say it on the lips that soon enough I'd be missing when my heart is broken to pieces.

We had never been in such state, rather being seduced by the anomalies of characteristics outside the standardised sets of cultural norms, of what reach our expectations rather than what touch our souls. It was an escapism, a delusional infatuation, a hope to evade the cage of daily pressures fulfilled by such vulgar survival procedures of disabled humans we are. As we tried to keep up with our perpetual illusions of living we sank deeper into the lucidity of gaiety, engulfed in a desire to be loved unconditionally with our irritably itched instincts. Apart from that who were we to worship such relationship while being no more than tormented souls stuffed in decaying bodies that soon will return to earth? Six feet underground and no one would be unable to grab a sound of us calling their names even in the most serene nights.

Then after the existence of us becoming nothing but recorded names on papers, who are you and who am I to have our lips touched, striving to cross our spirits in such materialistic world where we met in a spur of an ecstatic moment? Darling, darling, if we were in love we would have been in love much longer when destiny instituted us to be who we shall become, but before we met, how could we know we would find each other among everyone else? You could have met someone different and I could have met someone different. Us, in the end, were just people who randomly passed each other's lives, trying to lick each other's wounds, hiding away together from the cruelty of fate.

So I would love to pretend that we, somehow, had had a glimpse of our encounter thousands years ago when not even a single memories could last till our eyes exchanged gazes for the first time in which I knew you could recognize me even when there was nothing but darkness in your pupils, that even when we knew we might have ended up with somebody else (or something - perhaps loneliness accompanied with self-recreational mirages), the ones we met would have gotten to own those distinguishable signs that vibrate our skipping hearts, the manifestation of amour without reasons lingering in the corners of psyches like clinging to a miracle that these two would fall in enchantment, in such passion which everyone in love would be in, but for no excuses nor predictions nor premises nor promises just be liberated with the bless of Cupid; that we may erase our connection in our memories in other reincarnations of us if there are any, when we reach to our own normal and fortunate paths of life, being typically forgetful beings yet inside the fragile core covered with flesh and bones something would be persevered forever along with all the bygones we don't want to remember. That piece of my anima could be anything but it should be you as I want it to be you or something with your soul and your spirit, something contains our bluest sorrowful destinies interlacing as a mixed poem in a tiny section of life novelty.

Honey, please remind me if we were ever in love but in this mixture of bubbled hopes and shattered dreams nothing actually matters if we are or are not. We found each other.