My heart broke just a little, the way it always did when I felt that rare mysterious pull toward another. Sometimes in this too big world, fate or random chance brought me into contact with someone who elicited an immediate awareness of connection. A connection that was unmistakable, even if it defied rational explanation. I just knew that some part of their soul and mine shared something that could be… no, that should be… momentous. Alas, more often than not, I was simply left to wonder, and to dream, and to regret as the world swallowed them just as suddenly as they had emerged.
My clumsy heart falls in love so easy… with words, with ideas, with souls. I fall in love with anything that reminds me of that ephemeral thing I’m searching for. That thing that I know in my heart exists, but fear is too evanescent to ever be found.
Like all poets, I’ll always crave the unknowable. I will always hunger to touch that which cannot be grasped. And, I’ll always grieve that I cannot put to words those mysteries which remain unspoken.