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 He lays awake on bed, thinking of her.  Reticent of love-days passed. Oh they seem so recent... A kaleidoscope flashes sweet images he cannot escape even with his eyes snapped shut. That oh so familiar scent fills his mind as he tosses and turns in his super-single bed, waiting for Sleep to take pity on him. He rants and raves at Memory to release him to the toils of the day only to be disappointed. This mind, a separate entity with a vengeance of her own, waiting to consume what is left of him.


 They can never be together. That unfortunately is the verdict. Of pains that slay and the chains that call for a prisoner's agonizing day of each eventful and self-destructing day. Why does he not release himself since it cannot be? What if-s prick his sides constantly. Knowledge escapes his intellect to deny all possibilities of having had a life before this. As impossible as it seems, they two feel they have known each other for a long time. Does anyone ever share these senses? But Lord forbid this to be. Much ascribes to the laws of God and penitent saints do kneel and pray, begging for forgiveness for a weak spirit. The pain just never goes away.

  Will believes she will soon find happiness in another. Solace in a confidante. Dismayed at the twist of fate they each lay. Each aside but sensible to life's tray. For it simply cannot happen. Each chocolate picked, each flavour-ed kick, cannot a-lay the clawing and gnawing of teeth at heart's bay. Shy as they are, of what each breath brings, they cannot deny the demands of this life and calling of their days. It may not be easy but he will try to work to distract himself 'seeing' her every second of his wakeful day. 

  Age is the source of all goodness one says, for in age one matures and see things clearly. Such is the irony when age cures not the miseries of such love-sways. With thirty-two years between them, surely Alice cannot be his. Most days he feels so "pedo" about it all. Alice's eighteen earth years betrays him. Will had no source of strength to hide his throbbing pain. His heart lay there, ticking, ticking, ticking, a bomb awaiting the call for complete destruction. He yearns in everlasting pain...

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Thanks! Appreciate this comment.

Zany Lynn
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