You hold my hand, just as I think you will leave me. I was before we met, a lost soul. I was blind to you even though you held me safe at every dangerous turn on the black mysterious road we have endeavored to walk upon, or should I say through. It is more like swimming through endless black mystery. A blackness accented only slightly by matter and light on cliffs of even more mystery. You know this is your signature, your subtle approach to asking me if I will take that walk. If I manage to be as sensitive as you had hoped, or rather as you had predicted, I will see you through all of this life and beyond it. To venture into the unknown twists and turns of the heart is much like composing a musical masterpiece. To hear something in the silence. To hear the subtle turning of wondrous dances that grace our souls in such a way as to promote wisdom, wonder and healing of hearts once tossed aside as rubbish to be trampled upon and forgotten. You won’t be forgotten, and I know that you must deal in the future of inevitable death of souls like ours. You can take solace in the fact that I will hold on tightly to the ideals you have set forth as a signal of hope, and proof that love does in fact rise to the top like a sweet dream lingering in the back of my mind, like a lost lover calling out to me beyond mist filled oceans of time. Keep whispering to me love, and I will hear you in the blackness of my soul.

Yvette Morales

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