“We loved with a love that was more than love.” —Edgar Allan Poe
I felt every single word.
I felt it.
There was never a We…
Always projecting my deepest of prose onto everyone I ever loved in great hopes they would rise from the ashes of their sad shallow hearts to love me the ways I can love.
Oh, let me count the ways…
Hearts are like maps; the many ways one can navigate through the affinity of love. Routes are in the design of the ways one can remember to take—ways that are most familiar to them. Nobody likes to get lost…
Nobody I’ve ever met.
Except for me.
Getting lost is one of the most beautiful ways to learn. To grow.
Being guided by feeling through the course of the unknown is the only way I desire to be folded without sight—with my eyes closed. Like reaching for a glass of water on the night stand in the middle of the night.
Love is said to be blind.
Not because love knows not only a sight, but a direction.