Continued

Oh Scribe.

I am cracked, mended, broken open again, and healed by the balm you poured over my soul.

I have no words, only the ones you wrote for me and sang to me. Those words are your proof to yourself that contentment and happiness can be as conducive to your art as suffering has been in the past. And if I have contributed to your contentment and happiness, I will have found my own.

I am yours, Scribe, yet still my own. And that's so much better than being alone.

Thanksgiving beckons, with more promises to keep and wishes to fulfill, fleshly cups for sipping wine, and necks and wrists to anoint with sacred scents. Five and a half short weeks away until we are in each others' arms again, and whispering our dreams and secrets, our fears and tiny victories, to each other. Five and a half weeks until I can touch your face and look into your eyes again.

Five and a half weeks, half a country, and two heartbeats away.

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Muse,

If the balm of which you speak is the fury of the melding musical beings being exhumed,
then yes, we were healed. And in that, I was witness to a moment where I saw my wounds fade away.
Until a crimson streak of faded torment diluted into a torrent of crisp, cleansing waters that once distorted an image of Zen.
You and I, with out labels of jet setter and hardhat, is where I found a woman and a man stripped with jugulars exposed,
expecting pierces and finding only aromas that stir us. Instead we fed on the source of the fears,
went directly to the spring of the tainted, bloody wounds, the hearts.

I am yours, Muse, never again alone, you are and always will be in my head,
heart and the smoldering phoenix of my soul. And that is so much better than being alone.

So we count the time in months, days and minutes till the second we gaze on our newly found bliss.
Affection mutually shown was healthier than any tonic prepared at the hands of man.
Larger victories await us in those memories to come. I’ll linger with baited breath of thick kisses for your song of serenity.

Till then, Muse, know this. I love you. Thank you.
Contented Scribe


To be concluded.