You have come.
Invading the spaces
I have kept hidden.

Probing through the darkness
in order to understand.

To understand why
it is I do
what I do.

And I am scared.
Scared that at the
end of the day
you will give up.

Leaving like
many before you.

Scared by the dark
and unable to decipher.

Last moments
are always the hardest.
The climax of
wanting, and not
quite having.

Dreams that
are conceived,
yet unborn.

Grasping, though
not quite reaching.

Wanting, but
unable to
attain.

I hold your memory
as a choice pebble;
found after a
long day's search.

Not to cast it
away in a moment.
But rather clasped
in my hand,
so I can
gaze upon
its perfection.

I roll it around
against my palm.
Pondering its
Intricacies.
Marvelling at
the way it
shines when
the sun strikes.

Only to think
to myself
how lucky
I am
to have found
it first.