To my sweet, loving Martha.

I hate this time of year. I hate it because it is the time you departed. It’s the time of year where I truly despise what I am and that I can’t follow after you into an eternal bed.

Oh, my dear Martha how I miss you. One hundred years ago, you left me all alone for the sweet serenade of Death. Now I must wander for eternity without your love. Why did he have to choose you of all people? Why you? Couldn’t he have made a mistake? Couldn’t he have overlooked your name in his book of shadows?

If only you could read this. You would understand how I long to see your face again. How I wish to hear your voice again and to kiss your lips just one more time.

Even though I’ll never be able do these things again, I can be greatful for the things that you did bless me while you were still here. Your beautiful memory, your love, and our loving son, Cole. He’s grown so much. Oh, Martha, if you could see how much our family has grown. You’re now the great great grandmother of 17 children and there’s three more on the way. I must end this now, for I can’t see the page through my tears, my love. You always said I was a softie, didn’t you. I love you, Martha.

Your husband,

Leo.

P.S. I hope you liked the flowers I placed at your tombstone yesterday. I think next week I’ll surprise you with a new type of flower the scientists of this generation have discovered. I know you’ll love them.

He can hurt me fairly deep,

But he can comfort me just the same.

His gentleness can put me to sleep,

But his jealousy is hard to tame.

He is like a large, scary beast,

Frightening at first but then kind and adorable.

He looks at me like an enormous feast,

But all the while viewing me as lovable.

He can be furiously mean.

He can be splendidly nice.

There's more to him than what can be seen,

Not to mention easy on the eyes.

Sure he may be aggressive,

But to him, there is so much more.

Sure he may be a bit obsessive.

But only for me is he for.

Yes, he can be an asshole, I agree,

But he's my asshole, and that's all right with me.

I never understood love until now. I always viewed it as silly and stupid. In my view, it was childish, immature, and patronizing. Who would need love when one could have success on a string?

Now that I’ve seen love for myself, I understand completely. Love is like the most beautiful thing which could ever be. It is as delicate as rose and as soft as a woman’s skin. It tastes like honey flowing fresh from the comb.

Yet, despite it’s appeal, within it’s comforting arms lie thorns, ready to dig and rip at the exposed flesh of any who are willing to be trapped within its embrace. Love is pain as much as it is pleasure. It delights in seduction of those who are eager to find it and chases after those who run from it. There is no escaping this horid monster. Stupid wonderful, grotesque, beautiful Love, I pray thee let me go from thy tight embrace.

It’s only when the city sleeps that I lie awake.

Why does the thought of sleep terrify me so,

Yet is a haven when morning will break.

Why am I plagued with these thoughts and delusions?

Why must I suffer the inner trappings of my mind?

These childish dreams, these half baked illusions,

They are driving me insane.

Can’t I just turn over, close my eyes, and fall asleep?

No, for the stars are twinkling and the city is alive.....

And therefore, amidst my sleepless dreams,

So am I.

I don't have good dreams.

I don't have bad dreams.

I land in a space of nothingness where my thoughts become my worst nightmare.

A strong wave of anger will wash over me,

Covering my body in the urge to

Hurt.

Maime.

Kill.

I am unable to do anything,

Trapped in this abyss.

When I am conscious,

I step out of that feeling like stepping away from the dinner table.

But, when I sleep it is different for I am encaged in a whole new realm.

My sub conscience controls my thinking.

It tells me it will help me cause pain and destroy those around me.

The worst nightmare I can think of is me following its advice when I wake up.

I phrase my sentences by catching my words.

My thoughts flow like a steady stream of salmon onto the page,

They run wild,

Waiting to be domesticated into a tamed beauty.

The words will never lose their emotion nor wonder.

They will only lose their chaos to the thoughts of the author.

I am Word Catch,

Tamer of passion,

Creator of imagination,

Bending the power of letters to my will

As time is ripped into pieces, we are all sent drifting into the unknown. Where will we go? What will we find? We don't really know.

We are left in a miserable state of unknowing, lost in a dream of hoping. We relieve our agony for a period of time in wishing for something better and maybe, just maybe, thinking it might be true.

No. How can we know what is true? We are still trapped in this void of nothingness with only our dreams and thoughts to console us.

You can do it.

You can keep pushing forward.

It's alright to feel down.

It's alright to fall,

Because the beauty of this world is the fact that,

Even though you keep falling,

You can keep picking yourself up.