Late Nights.

I sat up late gazing into the shadows of horror stories,
dark novels, and films noir. Chasing the shadows of my former
selves, to learn their secrets, feeling that such black magic
required the incantations of artists' minds darker than my own.
All too soon I realize how much I only want to run from
those spectres of my past, and hide them in the darkness of these pages.
But then the magic is gone, or at least eludes me until I allow
myself to find all the pieces that need picking up, face my selves,
and find some way to stop the pain from bleeding out again.

*

Sometimes I envision you as you said you once were,
Roaming the halls of your childhood home with a candle
placed Romantically in a holder you grasp like a teacup.
Grown now, these images still play in my mind,
until it's the both of us in the halls of our own home,
Reading Keats and Shelley to one another by candlelight
over cups of Earl Grey tea.

*

Sometimes I sit beside you and see more than a
reflection of me in your eyes. Sometimes I see
my self, or part of me, held captive safely in your
heart, swimming in the mystical blue sea of your
irises - the sea that holds my future.

*

Sometimes I forget that age exists between us.
Sometimes I remember how young you are.
Sometimes I forget how young I am.

*

And Sometimes I wish loving you were less painful.