Paradigms of Passion

I could tell you the tale of the philologist who dreamed of his death in rhetoric. I could tell you that words become symbols to manipulate into poems, but silence suits the sentence well, right now. Somewhere, a man takes a flight across the country. Nowhere specific, a woman tries to clear her mind. The advent of Humanity is a mere speck in the world’s history. I’ve learned to live it wistfully, dreamily, wondrously. I don’t ponder over his negativity, over his brood nor his silence. I enjoy it, I adore his thoughts; the words which wrought my creativity. The artist is empty without its counterpart, its doppelgänger...it’s muse.