She Flew In On a Sunday

She came to me. Moving inside the winds of change and I saw her. Opening my eyes wider than wide, a newness washes over me as though the previous years just melted away, into something more, something real. Stumbling, the floor opens beneath me and, I'm falling faster further unaware of my directions, I fly to her. Fear only exist in her absense therefore, I must clothe myself in robes of her spirit. Her lips full, fill my daydreams, Her eyes consume my nights. The chess game of 10 years prior seem like an unessential waste of time Yet, it marks our story, traces our land, flavors our history Without it, she would be another's, and I, would be caught in the wind of something else. Something loud and noisy, empty of spirit, closed to her and everyone else, flying in circles, lost in living without love, without passion, without life.