Something of mine, written not that long ago:

I think I could forget
the way my spine tingles
the way my mind tumbles
the way my heart races
I think I could put behind
the way I wait for you
the way I miss your words
the way you fill my thoughts
I think I could ignore
the way my face flushes
the way your speech takes me
soaring through universes
I think all of that
could be tossed away
if only I had not met you...
to meet you, is to love

...yeah. Sappy, sentimental... it will never be given direction to the person it was written for... perhaps that person will read it, and recognize themself... but more than likely not. It is, after all, generic emotion. If you've the right eyes, the right heart, you could match it to anyone.

I do that far too often... write my deepest feelings and discover that, with a bit of rewording, they could be anyone... how do I even know I wrote them? I might just be remembering someone else's words, something I read years ago... that always worries me. That with my memory, I will write and claim as my own something that another wrote.

I might not be updating all that much over the next few days... then again, having said that, I might update ten times a day. I really don't know. I just know that it's been getting harder, again, to interact properly online. The lines are blurring again.

I hate it when that happens.

I was talking with Nreshan earlier... every now and then I hate my own determination. He refused to beg. Refused to ask. And because of that, I know damned well my pride won't let me speak with him until he DOES beg... goddess only knows when that will be.

I did talk to Alex... one more chance for him. *shrugs* He managed, barely, to talk his way out of that last-chance scenario... he earned this new reprive. It'll be the last he gets if he fails.

Here's another poem, this one not mine, but something Alex sent. See what you think.

- The Shadows Persist -

Conversation fades,
The lights withdraw into shadows,
Which withdraws into themselves,
Leaving darkness.
The whisper of greeting,
Material parts,
Behind those faded curtains,
Is a different world.
A pause steeped in silence,
Everything's hesitant,
From the unsmiling faces,
To the unseeing eye.
But then the pupil dilates,
As the reel takes effect,
The eyes casts out light,
Brings us shadows again.
And when all is done,
The lights pulse just one time,
Bled white by the effort,
They reclaim their world.
But the shadows persist,
At the edge of the aisle,
And so I will withdraw
Into them.

...he's a pretty tongue on him, he does. Beautiful words. Graceful. Well-spoken.

And, therefor, hollow.

There's a limit to how much beauty I can believe in.

Still... it's a splendid picture he paints. Excerpts...

Clipped from an email, just following the poem above: I'm not overtly impressed but it passes the time until I realise I'm late for work. I make a dash for it and, on the way, I get caught in a rain shower, so intense in its short duration that it clears the streets of squeamish pedestrians, leaving me alone walking into a skyline of rising golden towers thrown into softly glowing relief against a harsh slate sky. I'm walking by the river, drenched and still depressed, unsure whether the moisture streaking my cheeks belongs only to the sky, caught up in a setting so beautiful it wells up inside me until it feels like I'm choking on the intensity of it. My vision is misted by fast-falling droplets and the rain is hitting the ground so furiously it looks like its dancing ... all I can hear is the onrush of water seeking water. And above me the sky arcs, smothered in endless cloud, an unyielding expanse of clear grey granite, so perfect, so unchanging, so hostile. Then I turn the bend of the river and I see the rainbow, ribboning across the skyline in a swirl of colour, spreading fingers of light across the turbulent water, harnessing all the wrath of the rainstorm. I have to stop and simply stare ... the act of looking fills with an unspeakable joy ... now I know how Noah felt. At this moment I could believe in anything, worship any idol. But the spirit that lingers like a whisper at my side is yours, straggle-haired and saturated by the rain, but in the moment I summoned you, smiling with me.

Excerpted from Chat: *grins, still apologetic and finds consolation in your lips against his* Actually, I am truly sorry, my sweetest friend. If every thought was an E-mail, I'd crash a thousand servers.

Excerpted from Chat: Dehan says:

You'd be surprised how little sleep I get some nights...

Dehan says:

...and it helps that there was a three-week period where I'd sworn off playing Furcadia... and got my fix by dreamweaving. *wry grin*

Alex says:

*laughs* Why the period of abstinence?

Dehan says:

*wry grin* I was becoming somewhat entranced, to the loss of quite a few other things... it was for the best. I have moments when I find it necessary to remind myself that I can avoid my addictions, at least temporarily.

Alex says:

Illusion of control, perhaps?

Dehan says:

Something like that. *his tone is rueful* I've little enough control over a large enough portion of life that at times I prize what I do have.

Alex says:

*rests his hands on your hips, curving his fingers ticklishly against you* Control is overrated anyway - it's much more fun without.

Dehan says:

*churrs contentedly, shifting against your fingers in an effort to shift them to somewhere safer...* ...I agree.

Alex says:

*stills his fingers and spans his hands across your waist instead, the threat of a tickling lingering in his light caress*

Dehan says:

*quivers, holding motionless himself now, eyes wide and fixed on you, well aware of threat and promise held within those wayward hands*

Alex says:

*simply propells you forward until you're pressed against him, slipping his hands onto your back, running a fingernail down the curve of your spine*

Dehan says:

*her body tenses, the shivering that passes through her form a mere shadow of the shuddering wave that's slipped achingly through her thoughts* Damn you... go to bed and stop getting my hopes... and other things... up. It's disconcerting to be left this hungry this quickly.

Alex says:

Think how much worse it to have to listen to common sense and go to bed ... still, it's probably for the best, my spelling always suffers when I'm tired. Counting the hours until tomorrow, sweet. Take care and see you soon.

Excerpted from Chat: Alex says:

We've all been through it - my other serious boyfriend was hellishly destructive. *folds you in a completely drunken embrace* But then you're the saviour of the species, aren't you pet? Women like you are the reason we're not all gay.

Dehan says:

*nibbles at your earlobe, purring faintly* I'm not perfect either, you know... and I've my moments of violence. I try to temper them, though... at least around those I care about. Which seems to rather suddenly and drastically include you.

Alex says:

Oh I know love can be violent ... I know people can be violent ... I can take violence in the name of the love but not when it becomes so utterly utterly ... there is no word for it other than destructive ... how can anyone hurt any so badly ... well, it seems easy to survive such hurt yourself compared to the agony of seeing someone you care about suffer.

...and now I'm going to stop this, or I'll end up digging through every blasted conversation.

*sighs* 's part of what I miss about Furc-ing with Nreshan, and Lach, and a pawful of others... every now and then having some perfect scene, either IC or OOC, that I could look back on and say 'yes, that is... perfect. Completely pleasing, completely wonderful. That is a memory worth saving'.

I miss that.

I want more memories.

I know - I'm not around enough to make them, it is in the most literal of senses my fault. *sighs* I'm trying to fix it. I want my long complicated dramas back, dammit!