Femme perdue

I can’t write.

I am writing.

Where do I start?

I strive for the higher plane of the lessons of my split and split I am indeed

Between the intense joy of life and freedom and the everyday missing her

I think I know what love can be and we didn’t have enough

Not to the depths and textures that we both want


Different wants

The depth and texture is mine.  Hers is the sweeter, purer love of a newer soul.

Look at me so lofty

Not so lofty now

Then life then Paris throws in my face this is love remember this is love but it’s love I can’t have so what do I do with it Paris tell me?

That is not love it is want it is projection it is past it is it is it is NOT how my void sees it

Its source showed me love perhaps of more value and depth than what my void wants

She gave me love this weekend

Books candles humanity comfort


Home from home




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