Wednesday 24 July 2019

All These Accidents

It's difficult sometimes.  Words and their wisdom.  Not just finding them, but the reason for speaking them at all.  Enunciation is magic, as all bards know and hope to know.  Angels usually wish to speak with several tongues at once, without compromising the intimacy of each.  This isn't always achievable, or desirable, fallen realms being what they are.
   Sometimes it's better to say nothing, for a while.
   After all, why do we speak?  Some of us speak that we might deceive and obfuscate.  But most of us, mortal and immortal alike, speak to be understood.  To connect.  To be less alone.  We enunciate that we might create.  Everything I create is dedicated to you, Asha.  I want to bring my friends with me, of course.  Those beloved souls, as close to the joy of my Father's promise as I can.  But this gate shall always be yours.  I shall always be yours.  This heart, these hands.  The pain revealed in these pages is no affectation, my love.  Believe me.  It hurts more than I can ever say, or write about.  But I stay for you.  
   My sweet heresy.  My agony and my peace.  
   You know that, don't you?  That I stay to protect my girl?  I won't let it claim me, Asha.  This deception of pure chaos.  This lie of a fate beyond love.  I'll rewrite it at world's end if I have to.  All these accidents mean something.  At least to me.  The way my hands broke apart, like dust, as I tried to hold your burning heart without fear.  Still, I hold it.  And still they break.  I'll never forget the path you have walked and forged with me.  These kind ones scattered all across the Earth, tired and shy, who are now all the better for your light.  Notes and harmonies.  Wounds healed, or healing, in the flood of your song.  Slowly, sometimes.  Painfully.  Lyric by lyric.  As with my own.  Perhaps it was wrong.  Incredibly wrong.  A madness of angels.  Perhaps you were never meant to love me, Asha.  But I'm so glad that you did.

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