Love is A Nameless Thing-

(Writing, writing, writing . . . lines upon this page pour into my veins like a toxin. They run through my veins, circling throughout, like my thoughts run mindless circles in my head.

Circles, circles, circles . . . so many mindless circles. Will I ever truly see an end to it?)

Injections- surge, like tiny, prickling knives into my veins. Thoughts, faces . . . what is it that I have to prove to other people? I ask myself. There is no answer . . .

Eyeless faces. How was it that I couldn’t read your expression? Why are you still standing there? Why have you left your imprint on my soul? Why won’t you let me forget?
Faces still coming at me- like blobs. One, two, three, and then more. I watch them as they fade away, like spirits glide . . . deep into the night, and Ebony’s wide, dark hand covers them . . . so soon, like leaves, they are swept away. Faces that I knew, once-

Is this what love is? So I’ve been told. Faces that come close and then lose expression . . . become nameless things, with feelings, imprints, and hearts that are so discrete . . . now black and blotted. They hang about you, like brambles in the trees, and become horribly disfigured. The wind soon grabs them, and drives them away . . .

I remember your face clearly- the lines of your expression. Will it soon fade? Lose expression like the others? Your beauty? Your grace? Your eyes, which were alive with intelligence? Now just a blot in my nightly troubles? One more problem to stir in my tea?

So I’ve been told . . .

Love is composed of nothing- only dreams. It is intangible and worrisome, always looking for a place to rest- and a place to let go. It will not stay . . . it only visits you, for a short time, if you are lucky. Love must ever seek you out . . . but you must avoid it. Its face is like all the others . . . a veil of the unknown. Beware of it, for love is a nameless thing . . .

Forget Love, and leave.