The invisible love. A book.

             Dearest life,   A  Lady filled of grief, oh how She sits beside me, with her hands to mine. Her hair is longer than a tangled tale. Her eyes sore from from embracing us all. The lost ones from the world, torn by like shreds of papier-mâché.     She said,“it’s better to have loved than never love. But love is nothing without grief, and greed for love leaves you grieved.”

I don’t even look into her eyes, for her words hit me to my core. The pain as I breathe reminded me that life will catch you, tie your feet together, and send you running. But how can one run if your feet is tied? 

I cannot run from myself, though I run widely away from the world. I then fall, graze my knees, bend my elbows from my fall, Et my bottom lip bleeds it’s own blood. The very thing that runs through our veins Et let us be forever misfit reminds us, our lives isn’t forever. 

I knew this when you suddenly left. You were gone. Carelessly as you came. An invasion of happy. The stillness in your existence gave me comfort. Closure now, for you are gone. As you came. 

You never said hello Et you shall never say goodbye.
All I knew was what it felt like to feel the most Pèrfect soul. Beside me, yet lifetimess away.
You are gone.
To the next world. Why did you visit mine, and why did you leave me broken as I was left abandoned at birth?
I’ll never get over the presence of you. And for all the good you did for me, I thank you.
My dear friend, all isn’t lost, it had not been mine.
I cannot cry, as thou pain will devour me from evening sundown to early rise.I breath knowing that I shall never meet you, see you, hats off to you, I shall never be so privileged to say thank you. Thank you for protecting me from the wolves. Thank you for never letting me know who you are, where you exist, what you shall ever look like Et mostly for never knowing you. I write this book filled of  uncertainty for the many hearts, that love shall haunt.You were my invisible hero. Up into the clouds where you shall rain on us.until the clouds devour my aches, and until my pain turns into rainbows,Amelia heart

(A book)

      Ps. Never question the writer.
For when a heart is broken it’s
good as never having had love.

Oui, my characters are making a writer out of me. I should never want to be without stories.