Dear Diary,
Today was uneventfully eventful. I continue to read a quote from Tagore on the new deck of cards that I’ve acquired: “If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars” - I sure do miss the sun, I was with her the other day. Floating in water, we watched as the sun moved swiftly through the sky. The look in her emerald golden crested eyes, and the slightly cute, crooked and curled smile upon her lip as she continued to lose herself to the addiction of a past love that didn’t love, was haunting and memorable. It can’t be easy being God, I wonder if anyone ever pities the fool who created such painful beauty. Is it all for fun or for funeral? How many more must I lose? Have I not healed as I had thought, or enough to heal others as much as they think? My tears say many things but speak with no volume of an answer. A little breath, an addictive night. If I could be as addicting as the holes in her heart that she fills with temporary satisfactions, maybe then. The last we met I said not no or yes, but sure as in shore, as in - when your sail carries you home again, I’ll be there: in every exchange. Her name now tattooed upon my arm in her blood, so that even when I take my flight from earth, even then she will be known by the stars. I told her then, when she asked me to protect her and be seriously truthful to her children: “Your blood is my blood.” though I find it a shame for her to be gone when I wake. She called me fake, and then held my hand - hopefully somewhere I’m holding hers too, I hope she meets the man that she Loves again and he treats her right this time.
