Leaflets of loose fragility, like cracked mirrors revealing fragments of truth on the floor... they never seem to mind appearing rather like hazards to the wayward movements of dissolving perfection. How quickly strength withers. How simply and unexpectedly the heart, so certain of explicit feeling, loses pace-- and her shadow, roaming freely on the ceiling as if exclaiming "look down! not up!" for some unknown purpose, dances joyfully in anticipation like happiness incarnate. It feels much like death, she said. And I understand, to the degree that I am able. It feels much like death... but we are different souls; unique bodies full of powerful, forceful, undeniable connectivity: honesty turned sour those ideals that had previously reinforced our foundation. Like hailstorms and flashing lightning in the eyes of two fascinated imaginations, each time the darkness revealed the silhouettes of fear and trembling, and love and quaking depths where she so readily supplied--hopefully--nourishment for my weakened Hopes: We witnessed the divide together, stubborn together, love not forgotten, but plausibility and fear of unknown futures struck like hail upon the window and flashing bolts through the anatomy of darkness. What was revealed? I am lost now; yet more determined than ever to do what my dreams have empowered me to do. Perhaps reality is no place for ideals. Perhaps... maybe.