Life is beautiful, is it not?
Life is my love, giving to me the sunshine of the day, warm and fuzzy, like a cloud that I might rest in, high in the sky. It is the light to my dark, a balance of my being that I might open my eyes and finally see that which I had blinded myself from.
I didn't choose to love Life, as anything I feel for it, came as unexpectedly as rain on a sunny afternoon. It wasn't a pot of stew, brooding and agonizing in heat of decisions, nor was it a puff of smoke blown from my lips and twisted ribbons into the wind.
It was quick, whipping through my soul and leaving my spirit breathless. With one touch I was captivated, trapped in a cacophony of emotions, turmoil inside my mind that Life was too beautiful and kind to achieve. It was too much for me to bear, or even dream of bearing, yet I lust for its return in love. Maybe Life will one day see my profound desire and passion in its regard, and give me that which I hope fore. Life is beautiful, is it not?
For surely as I run my fingers through its golden locks, revealed unto me that my Death was my Life, it is more tragically beautiful that I cannot endure it any longer. Pink and red, strung together like a painting hanging dry, streaking the canvas of my Life's countenance.
What black that was Death had disappeared, and now my Life lies before me, a sculptured build in weak form. Fateful it is that my Death was truly my Life, before my blinded eyes all along. On kiss, to Life, as it had shielded and protected me without one thought of itself. Life is beautiful… but so it is cruel.
For my Life was my Love.
And my Love lies dying before me.
One more smile, my beautiful Life. One last glimmer of hope that things will be okay.
For my Love was my Life.
And my Life was Adrien.