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Rated: E · Preface · Relationship · #1863514
An oddly poetic tale in a relationship undefined.
                                                        Absent, In Season

                                                        Written by: Blankminded

                Darkness has been her guarded light where only the black rose unfolds in shadow deep beneath the casts of

          shade. While this may seem not possible, there is the unknown force that remains unseen. A light in between the seams

          of life. The very fabric of unspoken moments. This is and has been a season for not the unwilling. Fate lives in lifes beam

          for every flower, even within the darkest place where the love for light is so great that no light shall go without. This is

          where she can be found through which giving takes from and from this she gives.

              I found this flower many years before this place was known to me though my heart was unusually unknown to

          the moment. For moments past, dark hearts rendered  black streets that danced with rain mirroring the likeness

          back the other way. Reflected love, accepted not by one so true. That is where I began when I found myself unreflected,

          within her eyes.

              The black light, the soil which grows, the flower that needs not the wants and needs that we read about in

          literature, or see in fairy tale lives only seen through blindly lit eyes of the everyday love that dose not exist in this

          very spot in which I am speaking of. No such way yet somehow knowing, this season found in seasons coming.

          Now is the time of elegance, should a moment ever be. Whatever happened prior was an unpinned grenade in the

          greenhouse leaving in restrain, a stark contrast to her quick wit and social standing, touching the wake of past surge.

          Her way of life, not completely unlike mine. 


              When we met, everything else past came to witness just how wrong life, light and love had been in my eyes

          and that the season for this has been suspended in forbidden pain that bled no mercy for dark pages.

          Up until now, life for me had been the lovers of floral summers in the winter days of disguise, masquerading as hopeful

          reason and wishful lust. All this past now looks upon in question. What just happened, where will this go and will the

          season in offer ever be within content. From now on, all was not to be the same as life began to shed the stems of past

          while searching the way through dark light overshadowing these written words unspoken.

              Why ambitious? Why her as though why were the answer to what, and what was the waiting and the waiting

          had really just begun, and everything else now seems to circle above holding in pattern below night fields, hard

          paved for approach to the undiscovered season. When the lights go down, what remains will be. Until then, the stage

          will sweat as I stand, grasping, wiping away the punishing heat pushed aside by my will but not of my hand.

          Like flowers in the fold, the waiting for the wanting began searching for misplaced seasons absent in love. 


          She is my inspiration, the air I breathe. We have reason.


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