{ she holds a phantom. }

We speak the common language of hope,
and this specific tongue exists everywhere.
The world breaths it in.
All the time.

Lately I have been hoping again in the dream of much good love. Heaven help me. There are so many songs about love, and half of them are about fools in it. The majority are lamentations. Sincere beseechings. I often feel my hopes are misdirected.

When the air cools, and the leaves turn, the ebb of summer approaching, I get the fever. A chill of the skin breeds a desire for otherness, closer proximity, a human cloak is my hope. The hairs of my arms stand on end. All the while, a stillness hums beneath my breast reminding me that the fire in my gut can't be quenched. Nothing will satisfy my eternal pining.
Nothing on Earth. Heaven help me.

At present I am sitting in a golden closet.
It is suitable and pleasant. Dim and delightful.
I came here to drink a golden drink
And attempt to make a wealthy worth of lonely thoughts.
Cultivate hope. Press through the longing and the darkest parts of day.
I don't feel much like going home anymore.
There is a handsome man on my mind, often of late.
It is very possible I am just bored.
As autumn sets in, so does the cold and the wanton sigh for warmer hands.
The ones that don't belong to me.
This man I understand little about.
I don't know him, his friends, his opinions or positions on anything or everything.
I'm haphazardly crafting affection for a mystery, simply because it is a mystery, and the warmth of its unknowings soothes me. I confess, I kindle and quell. My heart creates a tide pool of artificial adulation, and as much as I work to fill it, I work similarly to flush it out. For the sake of my sanity. My thoughts, one part whiskey, one part water, plant a kiss on the bank of burdened feeling. Plant a kiss on the hope of my individuality, that a separate mind might take note.

If nothing else, I gladly wonder at God, for creating such a handsome man.

I would love to sit with you.
Just to know.
I would enjoy that quite a bit.

I haven't been writing, because it is so difficult to express myself in ways that don't seem so trite. But come back to the hope, that I can do it well enough for someone to listen. And for the both of us to know I mean for the good of all parties.

"We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently" -Romans 8

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