Routine is the devil of a stranger:
A death spell is different only in name.
18th century England — the rise of industrialisation,
the first factory system—the spilling out of a Satanic rage.
Alone, I sought you everywhere.
In Spain, five paces away from me,
Your torso moving gracefully, like a flower blooming—
So perfect you were; I should have found a way
to grasp the beauty in it:
To be with you was to be good, filled with God’s love,
But in that moment my heart dared leap out of my chest
In the frantic-ness to make time stop for us…
To make us both strong enough to last eternally
— To love us amidst the world’s fear of each other— It is not as easy as it seems…
It is enough that we are together.
You are here beside me.
