Love is like the waves of the ocean. There are many different types of waves. Some never reach the surface. Others stand hundreds of feet tall. They ebb and they flow. Drift away then return. They can be turbulent or rock you like a baby in a crib.
One when young tends to run from waves out of fear. With age one runs full speed into them. Diving in and splashing with joy. When waves are learned the signs of them can be predicted. Good waves can carry you for miles. One can catch a current and travel the world if so desired. Yet one can choose to catch many smaller waves. Experiencing each one allowing them to carry one a short while until finding a new one.
Sailors of old would search the seas for that one perfect wave and steady wind. Combined they would smoothly travel their journey in comfort and ease. Once ridden that wave would never be forgotten. Often being incorporated into fable and lore until its match could never exist. Although never finding it again. The ability to sing its songs will warm the heart until the traveler himself returns to the sea.
My stylus taps upon the dual glow of a muted screen keypad. The emotion, no, romance of the act is not as satisfying. The act being the conveying of my thoughts. It would feel far better if you were reading the scribbles of my 1864 fountain pen from my leather bound diary. Yet you are there and here am I. Neither in the same space nor time. Thus compounding my abundance of nothingness.
Reclined upon my leather sofa in darkness my world seems small enough to bare. Often such is not the case. More then I care for the world is far to vast, empty, opressing, thus: depressing. More memories then I wish to recall. More love unreturned. Kindness unappreciated. Romance ignored. However, presently life has brought me you. Or possibly you me. Regardless we are although not simultaneously together, in word and thought we are joined.
Therefore I am grateful you have made my nothingness not as abundant. You must understand my life has be very solitary but not by self creation. In truth, some self creation yet without a desire for it to so be. While my solitude is for lack of a better descriptive, safe, it is not wanted. How much more I would rather have you sitting with me to inspire my thoughts and share in my creations. This acknowledged, and if you so happen to discover these few words, would you, my dearest, join me. I ask nothing more than a moment. A brief glimpse of happiness. Only to use to feed my soul when the nothingness is great.
Have I again crossed the comfortable boundaries of nondisclosure by sharing briefly a taste of what pounds inside my mind? If so let it stand. May it taste sweet, smell fragrant, warm your soul. If not cast all from you and forgive the transgression. Do so with singular request. Leave a word of lie or truth. Either I will read as sincere. Express to me the desire I desire. Feed me one tiny morsel of passion to blanket me as darkness falls.
( I write this directed at no one and everyone. Share with me. Find comfort beside me. )