Drowning

I am drowning.Again.

Lost again...confused again...a victim of my own emotions again.

stuck.blind.aimless.weak.vulnerable.

She was the fruit that the dead tree bore... the harbringer of a glorious miracle...As beautiful as white light passing through a glass prism...her radiant beauty a sweeping tide of inspirational colour...suffusing me...nourishing my black-and-white existence...

In the past,life without her was empty but bearable....

but now...not hearing from her a day leaves me thirsting...

I don't know if i love her...

but thinking of her seems the most natural syndrome for me...you cannot stop the lungs from breathing...nor can you stop your heart from beating...without conscious thought...all this phenomena happen naturally...

i don't want her to find out...i don't want her to know that i am weak and lost.that i don't know what to do.that her beauty is a sensory overload to my heart,mind and soul.
I can't move forward because i am mired too deep.
i have played with fire...but now any night without that fire is a cold and dark night.
Work is the only distraction...but when i am alone...when i am in a quiet place...thoughts of her are all that fill my mind.

She is a beautiful witch...and i have been a victim of her sorcery...i have been turned into a frog...put to deep sleep...aged unnaturally...all because she has stunted my desire for all other pursuits.Hers is a strange curse that makes its victims want to come back for more...because of samsara...because she has enthralled and captivated with her charm and innocence...but know, i am addicted...and i fear the day this witch goes to a land far beyond...and leaves me in dire need of her beauty to live.I cannot pull away.my will is broken.

She is an Angel...blessing me with her presence when all was dry and barren...when my heart was a wasteland,she propagated it with the blossoms of laughter and joy...in my spirit she cultivated a garden...in which nurseries of simple pleasures and happy thoughts were planted...and the garden took the place of the wasteland...and my spirit was whole...but now i live in fear of the garden dying out...for the blossoms and the buds are frail,ephemeral beings....and one wrong word....would kill all the happy things we have nurtured in our garden.

She is a Rose...her beauty has coaxed the walls of trepidation to crumble...i cannot fight against her stealing beauty and infinite attraction.she makes me look deeper and deeper into myself...leads me to introspection.to contemplation.to reflection...such that i want my spirit purified so i am worthy of sniffing the rose and holding her in my palm...but the more i look at the man in the mirror...the less i am convinced i shall ever be worthy of her.

but i am sure her thoughts are far more simple.she sees a placid lake-tranquil on its surface...but the still waters run deep and fanthomless...if she only stepped in the lake,her heart would be gripped by panic and terror...and confusion...but her confusion and my confusion would be different as night and day...hers will be because what she thought was reality is but an illusion.I am confused because i don't know how to cope with how i am feeling...in this sense...we will both drown in the ensuing confusion...

and we will both be lifeless and lost...