Sometimes, very rarely, I find myself standing on the wrong side of a closed door. Sometimes I find myself having to walk away from someone Ive loved; but, like Orpheus, Im always compelled to look back. Then there are those OTHER times, when conflict reaches such an intensity that the doors are slammed closed, locked down, nailed shut, boarded up, and the house they were set in is burned down to the ground, the earth salted, and its name never spoken.

Sometimes it MUST be so, to minimize the pain-that-breaks.

And again along these paths we have walked, there are those upon which our footsteps will never be retraced; SHOULD never be retraced.

But even then, sometimes

Sometimes I just want to reach into the ashes, and wrap my fingers around the door handle, and delve into the immolations of the past. Sometimes you just want to dredge through the smoking remains of a burned-out history, just to feel that heat. The heat of true desire.

No matter how wrong, twisted, or self-destructive that heat can be.

Every time we touched, you would never look me in the eye.

Now, after all the wars, after all the tears and silence, when all thats left is ashes, I still think of you.

Ill fuck you if you promise not to say my name.

Cest lamour, non?