A letter to someone.

I never thought there would be a day where I could possibly find myself happy again. A day where light was not simply a figment of my imagine but physical, and real. You started off as a glimmer, and suddenly I was enveloped in this warm, this light that I can't say I've ever felt before in my entire life. I never believed I could trust someone with my heart again, and here you are... the very center of my world suddenly. 

You make me smile without even trying. You don't even need to say hello to me, and I've developed this smile that reaches from ear to ear. 

I'm not the most amazing person in the world, even if you tell me I am every day; something which I find to be the sweetest thing to hear, or, read rather. I'm damaged goods, and I have a large amount of baggage that I'm secretly terrified will make you second guess ever wanting to be with me. It chills me to the bone, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't slowly show you what you have chosen.

There it is. I'm terrified. You have no idea how important you have become to me. How you've stolen my heart, how you have moved my soul, and how you have changed me in such a short period of time. How drawn I was to you-- how drawn I am to you--, how much you've done for me already. 

Though you are so far away, something which is hard but so, so worth it, when I close my eyes you're beside me. I image what you would smell like, how you would feel to my touch, how you would taste when we kiss. It both thrills, and kills me. Sometimes I miss you so much it hurts, and sometimes I miss you even when we're speaking. I wouldn't want anyone else... no matter how far away you are.

It takes a long time for someone to get to know me, for someone to gain my trust, and for someone to touch my heart. You accomplished this is.... record breaking time. I'm honestly... surprised, and thrilled. Someone whom actually understands me, and someone who I hope will accept me for years to come. 

I love you.

Nothing can change this.

Nothing will change this.

I love you so much.

The Edmund Fitzgerald.

This was written during my 10th grade Academic English class. The assignment was to write as if we were a crewman aboard the Edmond Fitzgerald; a American Great Lakes freighter which sunk in Canadian waters in November 10th 1975 without sending out a distress signal. I didn't think it that well written, but my Teacher cried in the middle of class when I read it aloud.

As the ship begins to sink into the depths of the place I love the most my heart accelerates ever so slightly. The water is icy, and I cannot do a thing. If I were to go over board I would be swallowed by her waves although if I stay I am doomed to swallow her wintry water, either way...I am to be no more. I think of my family, my only love, my home, and wish that I was able to declare “I Love You”, and beg them not to weep. However, I am only able to pray for mine and my crew mates souls- lost at sea. Will they remember us years from now? Will a tear be shed for our souls later on in life? All I am able to do now is embrace my crew members one final time as become submerged; the water engulfing us in her treacherous advance. There is only a cacophony of hallow waves, and I observe while my crew mates and I witness our final destination as we are welcomed by the chilling water; our final resting place. I contemplate one final prayer before blackness over comes me forever more, as my lungs fill with  icy death I loved so much before.

The Labyrinth.

Fog painted landscapes; never ending in its majestic labyrinth within the depths of a concave soul. 

Grey; void of true colour.

It neither is lacking light, nor truly bathed in the warmth of ultra violet radiation which darkens the skin with its worshiped kiss. 

It is tantalizing, and a constant irritant which never ceases to remove itself from the psyche. 

 Always seemingly just out of the fingers reach-- stretched to its outer limits in avoidance.

Why?

Perhaps the prospects of Karma are far more accurate than ever given credit-- ridiculed for being the belief of the paranoid.

Clearly this could not be the works of paranoia--

this fog so thick one is forced in circles through the endless labyrinth of turmoil.

Circles which have been walked once before, and will be walked again no doubt--

Lost within the fog covered Labyrinth...