I met with her in a field of blooming wildflowers.
She stood there in her sky-blue dress
Amongst the sage,
And primrose,
Bluebonnet and paintbrush,
Dandelion,
And the tiniest white lilies.
Her chestnut curls were bathed in golden sunlight
And streamed against her face
In the breeze.
The glistening sheen in her deep brown eyes
Bound me to honesty with unbreakable chains.
Honesty even unto myself.
The cruelest kind.
I could not have lied, then, to save the whole world.

She asked me,
Do you love me?
And I said,
No, I do not love you.
I am in love with the idea of you.
I lovne the imprint you leave on the universe.
The silhouette of your soul.
I love the way you laugh,
And smile at me,
And kiss me
In my dreams.
Alas, I am a hedonist
To the very core of my heart,
It seems.

Go then, she said.
Leave me be.
Since your love will destroy at least one of us,
If not both of us,
Spare me your affections.
Go on, leave me.
Well? Why don't you?
And I replied:
The sun could sooner quit the sky at noon
Then I forsake you.
For I am in love with pain.