Lost and Found

It is hard enough to love with no claim; it has been so hard to remember her name. I have yet to find myself, yet often catch myself starring off into something that never was.

I started to write out my life to displace yesterday, though it has been a while since I have seen her face. It is confusing, finding the balance in the middle of something lost.

Tempted every day to feel her touch, at last ten full has come back and I will not. But I tear deep into myself only to realize that this is going to push me to do the things I have always wanted to do.

So I continue to abuse the feelings of her forget-me-nots, and isolate my love to pin point the pain, so that I may squeeze out any feelings from my vain for someone else to bare the shame of loving me absolutely.

The tone of voice she uses with me through speech or letter pierces me ever so with a gentle anguish that could leave any man insane. It has been seven months to the day but I still have nothing to say, let alone show.

Then again what is left is nothing more that what was kept, nothing save this, that the path to greatness lays deep within.