I tried to write about her. I did the task no justice. I failed to talk about the person. How to write without attributes, to unveil something rare, as never spoken, as irreplaceable? Most are looking to feel unique, special in a centralized way (bullshit is see through). I would like to say something extraordinary, to reach something never said before: beyond memory, projection, even celebration. I don’t desire to say, I love you. I need to remember nuance, voice, and intonation. (In knowing you—it has been the gravest and most joyous pains). That misses the mark. Many would say, “You’re thinking too much.” This is the issue. Love has become passé. A few know Love’s name. A few are satiated by thoughts of her name. Cirrus ambition. Ethereal heart rain. To need something invisible, the quality of souls. I tried to write about it. I failed traumatically. Northern eyes. All fabrications aside. To have needs captured by grandness. It becomes newness to garner newness. Many die inside, looking to rescue self. I long for it, to explain it. Captured by roots, most terrifying satisfaction. A lasting letter. A furious kiss. Most exotic of passions. To try without attributes—like living without oxygen. Framed by a glance. Awakened by a heartbeat. Threshed and released to the world.
