In the backdrop of stage, as characters freeze and time stops, I breathe and want.
Breathe and want to express what my love refuses, out of stubbornness or pride, or singularity of her life.
There she's caught, in poise and form, wondering not whats next or present or what just past her by.
Therefore, in-between heaven and hell of time, I speak to this audience, I now can comprehend with my ears and eyes.
To speak this soliloquy for another.
She wears white, just as white wears black, caught up in her own ambiguity, between here and there.
What does she know of despair or beauty, with pupils always in shadow, and shadow always beauty.
She knows not my angst, my love, my ever glancing eye, what power my heart beats- beat, to live such a lie.
That, I, would certainly die to protect such a flower from a withering world.
The world withers around her, each soul an alleyway, grimy and full of- ever such decay.
There are no delusions within her, shes grown accustomed to life being this way, and there lies in the beauty.
Beauty in the darkness, the abstract shadows, the ambiguity of it all- crossing over to day.
But her world is about to crumble and fall away, from the parchment eyes of an observer.
Her world toss into disarray.
I can remember what her heart spoke moments back, lost in her own thoughts, wondering to and fro, fro and to.
When she glanced, lingering for a second- stared, into my ever knowing eyes, my every knowing heart.
Caught in the twinkle, in the fluctuating pupils, that leaked out for but a moment, that-that...