The beat of a hundred butterfly wings pour out of the fountain, I am waiting and drowning in them. No not drowning, floating. Floating on the whisper of a wind gently blowing a strand of hair across my face. Floating on the distant chatter of the unknown creatures passing by. Floating on the immaculate work of art by Chopin, a painting heard only through the mind. I gaze at the 100’s of lights shinning different auras of mood and illuminating my environment. Thoughts begin to match this breezy night and dance in and out of my mind. I consider the insane shifts of impact that have recently occurred, attempting to sort out both subjective and emotional thoughts. This clarity is serene, an ambush of thoughts do not bombard me; instead, I can ponder with ease and logic.

Both my mind and heart have become endlessly tired. Strikes of pain, fire and confusion were doused with love, realization and union. Yet, the fear still lingers. It lingers in my laugh and the doubt brought by distance. When I am alone, all feels like a dream. Searching your brown, honest eyes, I contemplate if they are impulsively honest or have found concrete truth. Truthfully, I am still hurt. Hurt because you have returned with a wave of realization and passion, yet you only realized something I knew all along.

Oh my am I endlessly scared. Terrified to have my heart ripped from my chest all over again; I watch my self relax and trust all over again with each kiss, each glance, completely in fear. If you lost sight of your love for me, what’s to say it will not happen again? That solitude simply didn’t feel right so you stormed back. What happens when you don’t mind being alone? Will you push me away again? Will stress turn your heart to stone once more?

I suppose, as the dust settles, it is very natural for me to feel this way. The sun peered through my hurricane unexpectedly and warmed my soul all over again. Yet, guarded walls rose and I stand tall and hope you pull them back down once more. I hope you mean each word that escapes your mouth, each kiss down my neck. I hope it is as honest as children’s innocence. For, I cannot stand to have these words falter again.

He only knows self-inflicted pain, I know much worse. Dark, sleepless days filled with this charade; a convincing trance of “I’m okay” and “move forward” because looking back was beyond torturous. He does not know. The rug very abruptly pulled from beneath me, with no say or choice. I hope he never knows. I hope he heals me. I suppose all I have is hope in this blind love game. No, not game, I am too tired for games. I need raw, real, heart wrenching, honesty.

With each hour, I cannot help but smile though. Smile at the possibility this decision was concrete, that pain retracts and leaves me for good. Smile at his touch, presence, laugh, another wave of small moments ingraining themselves in my mind all over again. It’s as though he came and lifted the burden off my shoulder and now I am sore and need to rest and return to health. I see him watch me, as I watch him. Both slightly shocked and working for the return of prior engagements. I could’ve written books on how I felt previously and his absence. And a comforting realization dawns on me, that I can scribble for hours on every aspect about him, us, the future, now, my wishes. It’s all there, engrossed with new material. My muse.

This rope of risk and hope bind me to him as he leads me once more to a place I am in love with, his heart. I once thought this was a blind decision, but to give your all to someone is a very known process; just as I had before accepted the possibility of pain, I once more embark knowing this terrifying fact- simply because I crave the possibility of success more.