The Maiden

I knew this girl, beautiful as heroin.

I loved her like gravity.  I feared her like cruelty.  I desired her like Aztec gold.  I miss her like oxygen, and she is gone, gone, gone.  And I feel like I am more for having known her, and hollow for her absence.  I left her dead on the battlefield last week: the idealised childhood notion of my perfect mate.  And now I see unfiltered the entropic chaos of biology and energy, and wonder at the alien splendour of God’s true perfection everywhere I rest my gaze.  Foreign like a sheep farmer lost in Tokyo, but also richer and more grotesquely beautiful than my tiny, fevered mind could ever have imagined.

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