the hope of desire

A thought. Every day I hope. That's the scourge of existence. Hoping, condemning ourselves to hoping for what we want and forgetting our hopes once we get what we want.

However, what I'm hoping for this time is different. The desired commodity will be desired forever, for it touches my bliss. My bliss wrenched away from beyond the seas. So far, so near. That's the frustration.

The object of desire is someone. Someone more than human, authentic. How rare, how pure, how priceless. He doesn't know it, he doesn't see it.

He wanders in the wind that caresses my face, he is between the rays of the sun that warms my soul, he is in the sound of the waves that burst in my heart. He's everywhere, even in his absence, he resonates within me.

Part of me and him. Part of him is me. Two ghosts wandering in each other's souls. Vestiges of moments lived. So many words, so...

So, yes. I hope so. Again and again. Hoping to see you again and never let you get away.