Why is it that I sit down happily to write of love and precious beings and spew icor as black as an evil soul at midnight?

Why is it that I love you with all of my heart and yet curse the day that I met you?

Why is it that I love you every day of my life and can’t bring myself to love you when you need me most?

Why is it that love and pain juxtapose in a kaleidoscopic pattern of exquisite agony that can rise to the climactic moment of shared passion and simultaneously dash my being upon the shoals along the razors edge where the sea of our love crashes upon the naked shores of reality?

Why should I care
 anymore?

e-mail me at cyrissia@hotmail.com