The Aching

Oh, the loneliness. With the aching subsided brings forth new aching. No! No, is is impossible, such terrible impossibility. To love what will never come to pass is folly indeed, but I must hope, for maybe one day I will meet my charm, my divine equal through a stream of passion and all will be united as one. Those cursed beasts will never again touch me or seduce me into demeaning myself. (S)he shall kindle in me a fire so great, I will slay them through this passion. I need someone to love me. No, not those aberrant in speech or thought. I shall bask in your glory, find myself free from all animosity. I give you the command, “ Break me apart and build me back up to your liking, and I will be content. Then inner peace will be mine.” We will both shock each other with jolts until both of us have been pacified, then lay helplessly awakened to the tune of the sound. Cloaked in mystery, we go forth unto the world as new beings. Never again shall I suffer that suffering, for victory is ours. We will learn to refine ourselves from each other into pure gold ingots. As your jolt seizes me, I simultaneously convulse and bestow upon you a gift, which in turn is bought back to me in a form of unique expression. How interesting the principle that sexual intercourse is but a reflection of the larger loving process, albeit having its own limitations in expression potential, being more accessible to the lost who know neither love nor spirit. I continue to dismiss the notion that this love is all as delusion, when I’m reality I am simply loving myself. The evidence becomes increasingly noticeable and clear, to yet again be seized by this new aching, for a love that I have always known has never and will never exist.