I wish I could write in a language that only the souls could comprehend.
The sensory overload that is carried may be enormous but hard to see and to define.
Its frame is red like the fire that burns my egocentrism. The fumes blacken my aura, making me feel heavy. My vibrational set point is close to the one of anger, shame, grief, and despair. This abject stimuli is trying to tell me something I can't hear.
I gravitated to you in my need of reaching myself. A perpetual incandescence was dazzling my world's imperfections, transcending me into a higher level of consciousness, like the superlative of every humanoid, soulful energy exchange. So-called euphoria.
While winging to the deserted canyons of my true self, the view was overwhelming.
Coordinating my moves with the landscape means an invocation to my deeper instincts.
My entrails writhe with resentment though.
I won't cry out
or fall on my face again.
I take glimpses of my power...
What I truly fight finds an instant transmutation
I await the moment that all will make sense.
Maybe I see you around...