Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? When I'm sixty-four

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death which cannot choose
But weep to have, that which it fears to lose.

-Shakespeare, Sonnet 64

I have been scared for many years of love. If the question is posed, how can black and white live in the same space without losing their individual color, I can say because fear and love live inside me. At the molecular level I bet I could find where they are separate (analogously said), where my dark and light have two little God's battling for the last few acres of my soul.

I drive away those I love because I fear they will leave. Very simple to say is it not? I am blessed now to have someone riding the waves, and blessed to be a less torrid wave to ride, gentler to my surfer. Gentle should not assumed to be nice. In fact, "nice" for a man is a very sad state to be; 'bold' 'manly' 'fierce' 'gentle' 'engaged' 'listening' these are better words. Bold in love, fierce in love, gentle in love, engaged in love, listening in love - and so a man, in love. However, I am young with a cloudy philosophy, and so I can say many of these characteristics overlap for the women of our species. I will fall back to assume a matter of degrees - though even that cannot be crafted in stone as it is even more specifically a matter of degrees between partners. So I fall further back on the famous words of Saint Paul, "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love" - 1 Cor 13:13

Without judgement I will have to proclaim that the man and woman are a team, with the woman helping the man lead, and the man helping the woman lead - it seems then it is a matter of direction. The dichotomy mustn't be so harsh, but pliable, continually fresh. The ability to be agile and change directions in unison quickly, like two dancers, trained to navigate the world with grace. I find most people are just at a club, locked in some ridiculous fore-foreplay, a few are lucky enough to be trying to make their way through the crowd while still maintaining their dance, and the select few then are those trained, who command the floor and soar through the room like eagles with strong legs.

Horses maybe.

Unicorns, probably.

I bleed out till I am a bit mad, a bit dizzy; then I can stop writing.

Well then, till blood swells again, and I have to burst once more.

-Karan