I searched for her for a long time.
The trail was always cold.
Though I tried to hide it, they called me a predator when they caught a glimpse of my barren soul.
I coexisted with hope.
Someone told me she did something there. We would see.
Do you believe that a love affair could bloom in such a remote hollow of my heart? In such infertile soils.
There were other men I knew well enough. I was never to meet them, they were spectres.
My love for her was virtuous, crystallised, digital. No one could approach it.
I felt a murderous wrath when I read their thoughts. How could they think such things and even worse, say them?
I guess she was just bait for these predators. They were sick.
Her name changed often but her eyes were always the same. How can I describe them.......................I cannot.
She was wounded, I could see that.
A psychologist would put it down to a sociopathical misconception of love, that I hated my mother and her, her father.
Ours was a modern love which travelled across the deep dark seas.
She disappeared eventually like I knew one day she would.
She got out of the business I guess.
I never forgot her. Sometimes in the absolute silence of my dreams when I lived in unreality we would see each other. I was happy then.
At dawn I was awoken broken.
I took no consolation in the photographs.
She was vanished.