Never to have a love born of fate those trinkets and dried flowers are warm pulsing soul daggers piercing armor I did not know I had. Eyes wide open and then the sweet release like the first time, it was. For now and ever it will never happen and now is not the time or whatever the case may be I still remember and take that with me. Hold close the idea, the tenderness. Tenderness, the name of the painting that is on my wall, the name of the idea painted on the walls of my heart.
I had never really thought about it before that time but you awoke that within me. You painted these walls with soft young hands and caressing out the midnight. So now I go forth knowing that it is real and not make believe, it exist. A soil I thought so far away, yet I have touched it, felt it, feel it. Pieces of Spain.
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