Loving you is like walking through fog. Yet, I can't stop walking. My destination is not known, but I can't stop walking. At times I run. I can't see where I am going. Where am I going? What am I doing? I don't know. Yet, I can't fathom relinquishing my journey. I love you. I've loved you all of my life. This lifetime and several before it. I know I will love you in the next life and all others after that. I love you, but I married him. Did that hurt you? How was I to know you were going to come back to me? How? You disappeared in the mist. I couldn't grasp you. The essence of you slipped through my fingers like gossamer smoke and left dewy kisses in my palm. I never forgot you. How could I? You are… YOU.
I hate how my love for you penetrates my walls. They have been carefully constructed so that no man could ever locate the interior of my soul. The place in me which is supple, yielding, malleable. My Achilles location. The place which can destroy me. My love for you is eroding at my soul. It kills me, then like the breeze off the ocean after a summer rain it refreshes me. How can that be? Is this our yin and yang? During this life am I on the path of redemption for transgressions which I have done to you in past ones? Should my heart ache so much this time? I would gladly pay for my past sins. Just let this fog lift. Provide me with a destination. The quest through endless fog is draining my mystical energy. I keep fortifying my walls and yet you leap over them effortlessly, bringing the dreaded fog with you. It is thick. It makes my eyes burn and my throat choke with words that I cannot tell you. Words I don't believe you want to hear. Words if given to you will allow you the weaponry to bring me down once and for all. So I build more walls while I am in the fog. Carrying heavy stones from ancient times.
I am cold and alone. My journey can't be shared with anyone. It is my own fault. It is my burden to carry alone and silent. My secret that I keep locked in the recesses of my soul. My own personal karmic hell. Soon I am going to lie on the ground, and give up my pilgrimage. Odysseus found his way home. I am losing hope that my home even exists anymore. It has been destroyed and a new temple erected on the carnage of us. I can feel the loss of my home. Still I yearn to return.
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