Routine is the devil of a stranger:
A death spell is different only in name.
18th century England–the rise of industrialisation,
the first factory system—the spilling out of a Satanic rage.
Alone, for I sought you everywhere.
In Spain, at five paces away from me,
Your torso moving gracefully like a flower blooming—
So perfect you were; I should have found a way
to grasp the beauty in it:
To be with you was to be good, filled with God’s love,
But in that moment my heart dared leap out of my chest
In the frantic-ness to make time stop for us… To make us both strong enough to last eternally— To love us amidst the world’s fear of each other— It is not as easy as it seems…
It is enough that we are together.
You are here beside me. And that’s enough.
