When two souls are one, they hear each other, even in silence.
I'm comming to You.You are blazing.I'm giving You a rose.It embalms sweet.I'm givin a kiss...I melt of You.I melt and flow with You.Like an ice in a spring river.I melt and stay. Sun will vaporise us.It will take us up into clouds.And then we both will fall.Drop by drop.We'll fall out of the sky.We'll raise from dew to fog.Every sunny warm morning.We'll let the wind pull us with him.Cooling our selves in forest shadows.There in silence we'll cool offOne from another.But in stormy days and nights.We'll billow and crash.One to another.Like crazy and wild.We'll churn into white foam.Ashore in sands we'll waitFor the yellow october leavesInto them we'll fall asleep.We'll fall into and freeze.We'll freeze and melt againAnd flow and raise and fall again.Over and over againEven if we were in separete glasses of water.We would moove together and whisper.Even if in the oceans mixed.We would moove together and sing.I'm comming to You.You are blazing.I'm giving You a roseIt embalms sweet....If I'll ever meet You.I' ll take our time...To dance dance dance dance with You...
All of the emotions that hit people at times like these, all of them, were coursing through us both like a secret we couldn’t tell. Because if we said everything we were thinking and feeling right then…if we laid it all out for one another…we might not like the way the words strung together. Or the way fear and hope and bitterness and love mashed up into one big mess in the pits of our stomachs.
Oh! my dearest love, why are our pleasures so short and so interrupted? How long is this to last?Know you, my best Mary, that I feel myself, in your absence, almost degraded to the level of the vulgar and impure. I feel their vacant, stiff eyeballs fixed upon me, until I seem to have been infected with their loathsome meaning--to inhale a sickness that subdues me to languor. Oh! those redeeming eyes of Mary, that they might beam upon me before I sleep! Praise my forbearance--oh! beloved one--that I do not rashly fly to you, and at least secure a moment's bliss. Wherefore should I delay; do you not long to meet me? All that is exalted and buoyant in my nature urges me towards you, reproaches me with the cold delay, laughs at all fear and spurns to dream of prudence. Why am I not with you?
Seasons of the heart. To get through what I must I'm often encased in ice and for months he chips away until he can see my face and after a while, I begin to thaw. As warmth and feeling returns, my emotions continue to build until my personality is set on fire. When he leaves, the fire dwindles until there is but a flicker. Then there is stillness and winter returns.