Do I speak to you, or the multitude of terrifying angels that all share a lineage of destroying the pearlescent walls of our own immortality? With one simple gesture of being, you hurl a pedestrian that was only going about his day into connecting all the stars in the sky to bring logic to a chance happening. Time. Stop. Eyes. Meet. Heartbeat. Stop. Did the birds always sing such orchestral melodies? And it all makes sense for exactly a fraction of century until I notice your wings bearing the silhouette of departure; but was there ever an arrival? Time and movement and grace and the dismemberment of eternity reveals a singularity enthralled in the fangs of a barometer that reads - 
                                                                           This has all happened before -
     It has and it will and with uncertainty we are propelled forward into something that should be as common to us as another blade of grass presenting it's gift at dawn and yet somehow we use light words and heavy niceties and pour even lighter steamed milk into the veiled trap of a coffee date so as to what? not scare this ephemeral creature away that tickles us so? So? So then mirrors turned into walls soothe the soul. Supremely staged fate leads to severely misplaced fear and on the wings of splendor, two enchanted instruments can fly as far as the lands of ice where the demon isn't arrival, it's departure - 
                                                                             I repeat.
     Sharing a bloodline of a race of memories won't affirm your choice of this or that or cross the t's of answers addressed to one as -
    Yet you happened and I scream at myself in disgust of my own ignorance of existence. Yes, I am. Yes, you as a reflection allow vision of the contrast of ultimate beauty coupled with 
the ultimate beauty
     and it prevents me from stepping into the footprint of another who walked on a road before me because I know he was happy and I also know he is no longer. 


-Dimitry De Jong