Chase away the gaze

...And it was in his last days that he wrote most truly of his feelings toward the faceless ghost that so long ago had redefined his heart. From boy to man he grew in seconds and it was more than his spirit could bare, this knowledge. In the year after his death, this entry was found torn from the journal in which it was written lieing atop a row of novels in his library. A singular item from his youth's haunt accompanied the page, a glass blown piece of art with on it, the name of his sorrow's ghastly, loving agent.

"All it is that i’ve longed for is one to love, an outlet to recieve my unending affection. There is an unconditional love in me for someone that will not die. I could not tell them, nor show them, i could not speak a word or take any action that may have lent them notion of my heart’s true intent. I have seen much failure, sporadic are the victories followed by a prolonged monotony of difficulty in establishing balance in life.
Gazing into large, brown eyes that are cast on and then away from me by a being in this life that i can whole heartedly say i have fallen deep into the ranks of love with, i want to be drawn in completely, i wish to experience this person in their own realm; in their own life. I wish to be a part of their life, be their life, and they mine. They struck a blue, pure burning fire within my heart. When the fire burns for them, it burns deeply and grants me quite estimably strong emotions to know that such a lethal force can dwell so heavily within me and i not recoil, save for when addressing the thought that i have in fact found such a magnificient form of existence. And when that fire burns out of rage, it burns still ever so deeply, scars form and i suffer greatly, for i now feel the fire from the outside and not within. It is an evil burning and takes me away from the love i somehow find time and again. This avulsion is most traumatic and resentment crackles as the flames die to embers before it is miraculously struck once again by the soft, cold hands of the one whom I long for eternity with. This angry fire burns not with my will, not with my urge to love more deeply than the most hopeless romantic has ever dreamed, it burns to destroy me and in that i have no other aspiration but to rise above and destroy the spirit enraging the fire. That, i simply cannot do and so i turn my nefarious thoughts to the world and distribute words and hope dowsed in death to all deserving in my eyes. Heavy is my antipathy of the origin of this fire because in some form, this abandonment was birthed from innocence; the same innocence i fell to and that struck the essence of my mind and heart that allows me to love so openly.
I have not healed, i have not become whole; there has been no completion of my spirit following this wake. In times passed love has gripped my heart only for that grip to whither and blow away. Now love has grown from it’s seed in the very core of my heart and intertwined itself the full breadth of me and has solidified root in places i cannot see, let alone reach. It has grown up through my physical being and reached my rotting mind where it has fruited and now confuses nature all together with putrid thoughts of a lingering smell that is so sweet one cannot neglect and as those thoughts pass away, new fruit continues to sprout. The old has continued to fall away and so dwelled together in a contention with myself that only sets me on edge. Alas, i can do nothing but hope that one day, as mysteriously as the seed was planted, what it has grown into will become barren, rot and fall away also. Only then i feel will my thoughts regain a life that does not captivate them into a horrid tantrum of evil, tainted and sorrowful wishings of a time non existant draped with a small hope peering over the blackening intent that dwells there. An excerpt from my writings may clarify what i mean to say:

'There are times of an unhealthy frequency that I feel utter hatred and wish to contribute my very own ritual begotten in this deadly weapon i hold inside my chest to you and to life itself, but i cannot. It is that love which runs through my veins more purely than my own blood that causes me to reserve a place for you in this life which is pure and whole.'

If i could feel so strongly about a saviour as i do you, perhaps my soul would truly be saved. You are the only light i have known to any extent and that extent is so intensely beyond my scope of comprehension that i shutter after only seconds of thought upon you. You do not understand what you have done and because of that, i am imprisoned. Although my rage never overshadows my love for you, i am hurt, angry and alone."

The old man wrote.