Longing.

How can a dreamer be satisfied in desirous dreams? It must be a terrible fault of mine.

Oh sweet angel conceive you, Hell! Spirit of light! They say to be damned to the Fire is to be denied closeness to God; if longing feels so satisfying, how can one ever suffer in Hell as she longs for Heaven? When pain itself is inflicted by the Creator, and created by the same, can it ever feel anything but endearing?

It cannot be the distance then; it must be the scourging Wrath. How disheartening and sorrowful to be denied love by Love. What a wretched creature must be sentenced to Hell! I pity it unknowing. And fearful that I know–I may see myself in the dreadful ashes.

My heart quakes; I want to rupture. Why must I be trapped in human form? Forced only to desire dissipation into the universe and never find fulfillment! Floating particles would be calmed, assured they are encompassed. And the stars, cold, pristine in their distance and their mineral perfection, will never know the melancholy desolation of a human heart!

We must have been other creatures; centaurs robbed of our legs or mermaids of our tails, yearning still to race the wind and conquer the sea with no ability granted to compensate our desires–only build ships in vain–how else could such innate cravings be explained? How cruel that were our shoulder blades extended they would become vestigial wings, like faeries! Leave me with a soul that craves flight and a body inches short of wings!

There is often something glossy and unreachable, a strange suction of depth, when I look into my eyes, as though I will be engulfed in my own gaze; it frightens me. What immodest passion is this? Brazen earnestness and soft loss–what might I destroy? Lest I erupt overtake me in penetrating waves of truth until I have collapsed in weariness, denied, then enclose me in Divine Mercy! And remind me to be compassionate toward this human form, which is only representative of the shortcomings of my soul, and would wither without love–surely that is a sin.

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