Thank you, Kat

To have without contiguity is nearly as painful as not having at all
How bitter-sweet it is to possess something, to be possessed by something as far away as the stars
I caught the scent of you today and nearly fainted from desire
You left remnants on my shirt, the left shoulder;
I want to remove it equally, I want never to take it off
The totality of your beauty makes it difficult to breathe:
Your mind, your enigmatic smile, your eyes, I need to freefall there, fall until I reach the essence of your soul, which is to say, to fall into infinity’s end: no equipment necessary
I find myself overtaken by the most inexplicable need, one which burns me; it hurts to the point of absolute pleasure: the apotheosis of desire, sought with a feverish thirst, which it always already knew was unquenchable
This, paradox (inevitably proliferating), however, only makes the process that much more invigorating
It is hard not to pity those who lack this experience of a desire beyond the confines of time, the infinite of infinity
The impetus of falling into this “what must be” is immortality itself
In spite of this coil of mortality by which we are burdened, the embodiment of our achievement—frankly an egoistic glorification, as if choice could approach necessity will be sought by all who follow the spark of life without the imposition of definition
In this way, we represent our own merger manifestation of immortality
I am stricken by the notion that I have tempted fate by stepping beyond the boundaries of mortal prerogatives
Perhaps the scythe, which believes itself to make a joke of what is, has already begun its violent arc towards that place, which yearns for your lips
If so, just know that it is wrong; its conviction cannot compete with what has incorporated my soul into the eternity beyond quotidian time
If my transgression was to reach the level of the point at which my being stops
Just know that my soul lives on within you and will forever more, to be passed on to others, who will pass it still further
Thus, it is that in love unfettered, in the courage to be entirely vulnerable, to offer oneself as a hostage to the Other,
The secret of life with no end is unveiled as the most straight-forward and most perilous of human possibilities
That is to say, that the peak of life is to love with nothing but the heart, to love and just know it, without exercising any effort towards the latter
Patience and faith are the imperatives—the paradox in the mirrored room: infinitely self-reflexive, inescapable, the sovereign supreme of that which falls further back into itself as it encounters what is Other—of the “just know; it is, you are, we may become”