In the midst of her love, in the quicksand thee is sucked into, in which hence befalls her beauty, I have no resolution to escape it, for she renders a writer guilty of words, an artist void of surpassing praise, a siren mislaid of voice~ She is my rock...~ The earthquake which splits the material that is my soul into two parts which are as different as the moon is from the sun. Parts that she cherishes more than a mother her newborn - and then she puts them back together just as easily...~ Even though she believes she cannot be the bearer of such effects on me, she is, and will continue to be just as cherished by myself as I am to her for every single lifetime that comes to pass us. Thank you. I love you... 💕💕💕💕