There was no bounded edge to her personality, but I am bounded, and her unboundedness intrigues me, fascinates me. I know the world through my feelings, my feelings of guilt, of boundaries, and the fear of going beyond my borders; but she has no such sensation. She is free. A freedom I cannot live, nor accept. I have a best sense of myself, the kind that is typical of all good men, but she, I dare say, like freedom itself considers whatever state she is in to be the best sense of herself.
Her movement dances to a mixture of music and even to silence itself. I can only move to a Bethoven, and my ears only have time for well written music, the kind which echoes from the mouth of a piano, or stringed from the violin. But she could take my archaic tune and make it graceful, elegant as well as dysfunctional, having no pace or rhythm about it, and make both contrary themes lovely.
She speaks without an agenda, move with and without a direction. How a creature so unlike me could live and I be so fond, escapes me. I know only that when I look upon her, seeing day and night with its sun and stars, dwell happilly in her eyes, impells my curiosity and heart to love her more. Oh if I should fall off my precipice and land in her space, I cannot live again in my world, for she has won me, my heart and soul, that if she leaves me in her world with her all gone, then I will go mad, because only staying by her, with her, can I make sense of her universe.
And it was, that I did enter her boundaries, and she did lead me in and that for a while. After playing with me, and I so embedded in her, she did go away, leaving me without a kiss of goodbye, and without directions to find my way back to the edges of my own simplicity. Her world was too vast, too free for me, that without her, madness overtook me; and the absent fires of her love, burnt me to such a high degree that I no longer recognize myself, only a strong desire of an unreachable satisfaction which continually aches my heart remains.