A Lover To Their Beloved

 Hello. I hope you've been well. 

This may seem absurd. All my life, I have overcompensated in a frenzy of wayward expression just to come to this.

 Love is what creates poets,  with their own wayward expressions constantly inspiring towards the condition of art, with age. Yet, they still yearn to belong to the one, despite belonging to others.

Man is to lose Heaven. Love is to find Heaven before fate and be destroyed by the immersion of being, in moments of time when one does not know how to be.

Life is demystifying adventure, cursing one with the knowledge that love is the homeward bound journey. Yet, even that road is rife with danger, the lingering wight of silence continuously pushing one to the brink of madness.

 I know now that I have always been worthy of Heaven.