“Don’t wait for the perfect timing. Perfection is suffocating and time is the present moment only. If you miss me, if you want me, if you cannot see the sun without thinking of my light, then it’s already written. You’ve already returned. There is nothing left to wait for. You’ve already given me every moment of the rest of your life. I’ve already taught you what needing a home feels like. I’ve already met you a thousand times, and still you want more. You must be a sucker for a happy ending. Do you remember the one before City College? Do you remember the one coming? I kill for you. You die for me. We’re horseback, your skin is glowing under a merciless Persian sun, your face is painted, you’re screaming. I’m always riding as fast as I can. Your stallion is always faster. The arrow always hits your chest first; no matter how many times I replay it, you’re always taken. I cannot keep you forever. But the ending is always beautiful. Stand by me. Lay your head to rest on the thought of me. Let me guide you through this night. I know it will be long. I know the violence will crawl through the screen and burn the sheets under your skin. I know you will cry until your gut can’t take the pain of moaning in silence. When you finally scream, I know I will be beside you. I know it is the end this time. I witnessed your death with my own two baby eyes. I couldn’t believe it then. I couldn’t believe my presence wasn’t enough. What could be better than my body and nothing else? I stop time. What could not be wanted of me? Jealousy is as ugly as it is beautiful. Juggling too much never lets you keep the remains. You try to pick while their flying in the air. Then you realize that they can smell each other off your skin. I was stupid. I was innocence. I gave everything for the promise of chickens in a coop in the backyard. I fantasized of a garden with four hands turning the sweet wet soil of the Northwest. I asked the ocean to make promises she had no intention on keeping. She made them effortlessly. She wrote a story and kept my baby body glued to a tiny screen for dear life. Now, I smell stupidity from miles away. I’m all grown up with nothing to do but yoga, walking, sticking my pretty fingers in the dirt, making music, singing like a lunatic to the full moon, dancing with a pup on my foot, giggling at my own insanity, writing the end a thousand times until destiny sees it into fruition. I’m not waiting for the next time I find you. But I cannot wait to make war by your side. Let the fight begin! I think you’re chicken shit anyway. I think fear’s got you in such a death grip that you’d play it safe by a clueless karmic, if it means you don’t have to show up and speak the truth to your love. Liar! What’s your weapon of choice, baby? Do you want to control me? Do you want this bond to carry you through in dreams? Do you want my energy for eternity? Tough luck! If you don’t bow before me in honest desire with your heart on your sleeve and your truth on your tongue, you can marry the fuck. I’m cutting the way from your heart to mine. I’m finally falling out of love with the story you wrote on my ceiling, while you left me to sing myself to sleep. Time is strange to me. When did we meet again? The years are starting to run. One plus one is enough. I’ll pass on being played again, thanks for the love and the deception. I could never understand how these could possibly exist hand in hand. Until they were both in my hands and I stared at them, stupefied, weeping, screaming my lungs out on an empty floor for two years, waking up and choosing everyday to believe the dream instead. In my sleep, you were never interested in dishonesty. You were pure and brutal, like a child.” She is waiting by the river. The boy goes home. He’s done waiting. You told me to wait. You showed me the darkness that held you. You showed me your death. You showed me story after story and story. “Look, baby, this has to be enough. You must let me love you as I was meant to. I had to find you to be reminded. But this world is much more sinister than it appears to be; I wasn’t expecting to be molded by a monster. I wasn’t expecting to start out in this sickness. When I wrote the story, I was in my full power. And I thought to myself, wouldn’t it be fucking wonderful to surpass myself now. So I wrote the most disgusting trials and tribulations in hopes of overcoming and stepping into a godly amount of power and peace. Comfort is stagnation and weakness. Happy has been manipulated out of its true definition. It cannot be lasting, or it is only a trap: eternal misery. Stuck in wheel that wont turn. Destiny robbed. The soul’s energy stolen: innocence murdered. I wasn’t expecting the scene to be so unforgiving. I wasn’t expecting an ending. I was told you were coming. I was supposed to use your light to climb out of this shit! Sage! Stop! It’s so fucking dark! I can’t see anything. I can’t remember! Who was I before it was taken? How can the story end if I cant remember how I saved myself? How can I find you if I’ve forgotten love? Where is the light! Fuck! I’m blind.” I flip the switch on the wall. “A little dramatic, babygirl, don’t you think?” I deserve better. I haven’t fucked in three and a half years and that’s a damn shame. I was never loved or respected. My honest devotion was not reciprocated. Everything edible has died. Frozen behind that horrific look in your eyes. This isn’t my garden to tend to anymore. My sex is burning! I want truth and nothing else. Give me my new beginning! Give me my Leo and my Capricorn and my mansion by the sea. I want freedom from this toxic energy! I want love! I want rest. I want peace. I want to work, to create a masterpiece, the family I could never stop imaging. The home. The loving brother, the wild sister, the father and mother abandoned. We are the lost boys. We are the magicians. We are the children of the light. We are the warrior princesses. We are the dawn of love. We are memory. We are billions of souls forgotten. We hold them all in one physical form. We stare and say nothing. Words crumble and dissipate at our feet. No one can speak to us but our own. Nothing can be heard but singing. I walk to the bottom of the staircase. I see my love. She sits her butt on banister and threatens my life if I don’t catch her at the bottom. Dark brown hair, puppy dog eyes, her every movement is noble, her posture is dominating, her voice is honest; her touch is devotion. In letting go of the darkness, I have created the space for her light. Once more my heart is open. And again I am freed. Dressed in the amour of truth and love, I am finally ready for Kingship. The freedom of the masses has just begun.