I Always commit every memory of my life to heart. it is an habit i have taught myself. it pays always. one of those tiny little memories was of a woman. the child of a man. yes, a child of my other mother. i met her in a dream. she was an angel only that she lacked wings. her heart so pure, but the purity of wantonness. her tongue issued forth healing words. but they stringed. her truths, so rude. her smile, so sweet, though cold.she managed to lure mine heart, so that i could seek her acquaintance. and so i followed her. meek as a lamb led to the abattoir. she sought my hand. i gave her. so that we merged. not with anything of our corporeal states, but with our psyche. it was wonderful. i searched through her person, swimming, like a naughty fish. i sought my way to her heart whither i could find rest. i tucked myself in. i slept. we gave birth to a child. her name was mutual friendship. i had entered her zone as she had entered mine. since then, i always hunger for her. the politeness of her scolds,human is to language. people tend to think that the verbal exchange of words is the ultimate way to convey feelings. Shirlene begged to differ. she was a great orator. a fluent speaker, but not verbally. her eyes spoke for themselves. her lips had their own language. it seemed, each part of her had its own psyche. i could always find delight in her manners. how my heart would sent waves of Ecstasy just by the blink of her angelic eyebrows. she was a witch to adorn the entire village.so Godly. i yearned her
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