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We met and I fell, for the power of your power. For a life with you and without you, as always inconsolably alone. The gravity of the presence, now, of the force of being. For the beauty of your soul, for your dreams and desires, tucked away under the blue damp smoke of damaged disappointments. 

We kissed and I knew, you knew, there was no way back. The way way back to way way loneliness. The way way back from the kiss of death. When I smile, you sink, closer to the ground to be swallowed by a greater satisfaction. An unreachable satisfaction in an undesirable world. You go, sometimes I catch you slide away. You turn your back to me, to drift away on the stream of people with too many wants and needs. You join them. You feel like them, but you are not them. You are more then them, you don’t see them, you see yourself in a multitude of unknown faces. Longing for a glimpse of recognition you drift farther and farther away until the world wont recognize you anymore. Until you have become a statistic on the whiteboard of life’s victims.

Only a few dare to walk next to you. I choose to walk behind you, safer that way. Your moves are unpredictable with the excitement of a four-year-old boy finding a long-lost piece of candy in-between the pillows of the couch. Your moves are whimsical when not too close to the heart. Today I put you on the pedestal of daring to say fuck you to the world. Tomorrow I want to break you for breaking my soul. Tomorrow I’ll be forgotten what you once said to me and what you never meant. What you said and wanted to say. A combination so deadly it paralyzes me in my tracks. Like a naked new-born babe striding the blast, I surrendered myself to your preferences. To the whispers of the bottles filled with Jacks and Daniels. To the whitest parties and powdery lanes. To the pills that promised you fields of daffodils and turquois unicorns. To a world where I have no meaning, no existence, no wildcard to the next life.

Sherlock & The Gypsy