This night is grey. It is odorless and frail as if I can drop myself on it and crack its carapace without much effort. It is often like this, very often. I have learned to adjust and to fight and to surrender but I have not learned to love like this. To feel like this. Maybe it is not something that can be learned. Maybe your beauty is the only substance that can teach this. For you are a teacher, and a maker, and a mother of dreams. Both of yours and of mine. You seek the tranquility of peace and the depth of utmost elegance. You make me see it in you becoming real. Things that I thought shallow and crude and useless, now striking fires of meaning and essence in a night that is void of all.
I have betrayed my heart for you and I have saved it also. This is how I know that this is real. That you are not an avatar of a haunted yet fertile mind palace, but a definition, plain and simple. You are what moves my heart, you are the way I explain beauty, not only experience it. You are a princess, and I am a fool. For my hope is frail like the darkness that consumes me but it is not as temporary. Its tiny body is too strong to shatter. I do not know why, I do not know how it came to be, but I do know from where. I look into your face, draped with velvets the wind is shy to touch. I long to be a moment in your eyes, a passing thing in time, an eternal presence in your heart. I seek you into a palace I built myself, a palace I am not allowed to enter. How can my heart find you there, for I have a fool's dreams, but a dreamer's heart.