When will you return to me?

On a kind of a ephemeral and transparent whim you knocked my life lopsided. You so softly breezed in unannounced. You said here I am; please take me as I am. You are present even when goblins call my name from gnash-noised tombs and despair comes a haunting. But because of your reality which I see in videos and emails everyday they slowly move away and don’t seem as real. You are my joy and my serenity of peacefulness.

When will you return to me my love? In what form will that be. A letter or a picture or a video or perhaps one day I can come and see you for myself that you are real and tangible and a vital being of strands and subtle demands of character and cheerful personality traits. One in a billion.

When can I speak to you again? Will you waken with my name or someone else’s on your lips? I have seen you safely off to sleep. Will you dream of me as I dream of you? You don’t have to think of me often like that. I think of you a lot during my day to be quite honest. You however don’t have to adore me as I adore you. I am pleased to suffer here in the street below.

The space of a day is  an eternity of the flower on the stem on the branch of the tree of eternal life casting its fruits above the eternal river flowing from the Mount of Olives. I am getting all mystical I guess. The flower of eternal life is in your flesh if you only knew God wants to radiate sunshine and feed water  to that flower forever.

Am I just babbling away darling not really making any meaning? When words fail it is love that bites.

When will you return to me?

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