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One Night in Paris 2012 He contemplates his existence... Hell on Earth is the price he pays for his sin. In a single lifetime I’ve endured enough sadness to span an eternity. My days were uneventful and time seemed to last forever... until that fateful night when she arrived at the brownstone. The first moment my eyes fell upon her I recognized who she was. Since that moment, I no longer suffer as I once had. I love her face. I love her heart. I’ve loved her for the longest time, and I want so much to tell her. My days and nights are devoted to her. The love of my life, Brielle Eden is the object of my desire and the reason I exist. Yet she is unaware of my presence. She moved to Paris to start her new life and to find the love of her life... allowing love to come to her. To know the eyes of the one I love, to see them pull away from mine, and to fall to the floor is now the greatest torment I have ever endured. The pain cloaks over me like the darkness of Hell. It is like missing the one who is dead, yet they live on without you. I remain hidden in the dark corners, veiled from the light. If she were to see me through my shroud— broken— I may lose any chance to redeem the love we once shared. It is becoming difficult to stay concealed and out of sight. Already, I have broken many boundaries into her world. Yet, it has been worth the risk to capture mere glimpses of her beauty. I have discovered her days are consumed with getting things done, making trips to the university and running errands. I linger behind, following in her footsteps as she runs to and fro around the city. She spends her leisure time at the local café, enjoying lattes and reading. She loves books. Mysteries and love stories with happy endings are some of her favorites. When she stops to peek at the treasures displayed in the windows of antique shops and bookstores, I connect with her bright eyes in the reflection of the glass. Her pupils dilate with the excitement of anticipation as if as if she has spotted something she has lost. If only it were me... In the evenings, she writes. I study her from afar as she sits for hours in front of a thin-flat box that contains a plethora of information and moving objects. They appear out of nowhere. Everywhere she goes she carries her “Apple” around with her. That is what she calls the little black box. It seems to please her and makes her laugh out loud. Her long thin fingers fly over the letters, and words rapidly appear. It’s like magic and reminds me of my old electronic typewriter with the exception of the flat screen that lights up her words. Everything she touches is like magic to me. She appears to be as lonely as I am. Faraway thoughts dance in her eyes as she stares into the night. Her eyes are inquisitive, turned upward, seeking out the twinkles of the lights above and the glow of the moon. Stargazing seems to comfort her. At times, I hear her soft cries in the night. I long to soothe her fears and wipe away her tears. However, I resist the light and the one who keeps me anchored to all that I desire. I fear... if I were to reveal myself, she would run from me. I cannot risk losing her again as I have many times before. This is the darkest plight of my being, and so I regard her space from afar. I am in awe of her beauty, from her iridescent blue eyes down to her painted red toenails. I know the exact number of long, luscious lashes that fan out against her cheeks as she peacefully sleeps. I wonder: does she dream of me? I have yet to trace my fingers along the soft angles of her profile, across her forehead, to the tilt of her turned-up nose, against the curve of her moist full lips— furthermore, down the length of her body. Her features are that of an angel. She is my angel. I have forever longed to kiss her crimson-colored lips as I once had. Yet, I forgo my desires. I have stolen private moments, watching her when she doesn’t know that I am there. My eyes know the line of her silhouette, and the way her bare curves fade into the shadows where the light does not caress them. Do I find shame in this? Can’t say I do. The basis of my love goes deeper than her physical attributes. Yes, Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty has blessed her with delicate marks scattered over her fair skin; although I know each and every one, it is her inner soul that so fiercely attracts me. The sight of her makes me smile. Her clumsy little quirks: fidgeting, knotting her fingers together, biting her lips, and the fact that she can’t sit still are all traits that make her that much more precious, lovely and real. To me... she is a dichotomy of perfect balance. She moves with grace, but sometimes trips over her own two feet. I want to reach out to catch her from falling. Still, I refrain. It’s a sight to behold when her blond hair tangles in the wind, resembling rippling banners of spun silk. Sometimes when she passes by, I brush my fingers across the ends. When she feels my energy, she jumps and turns towards me. Her eyes alight taking my breath away. Reacting purely on instinct, she withdraws from me. Once again, my intangible touch causes goose bumps to spread across her skin, raising the sheer hairs on her arms. I then recoil. When she is fearful of the dark, I assure her in some small way that I am near; her sentry keeping watch. My concern is— I may be the cause of her fear. I am torn, albeit, if I reveal myself... will she embrace who I am or run from the likes of me? She is a breath that I can capture, but one I cannot release. I am tortured. Hell on Earth is the price of my sin. For now, I am surrounded by darkness, watching and waiting for the daylight to arrive. Will she notice me then? That would be my finest dream come true. -1- Barely Breathing
-1- Barely Breathing
-2- News Worthy
-3- Swept Away
-4- Gone Like a Dream
-5- In the Wake
-6- Sinfully Taken!
-7- Eye Opener
-8- Parchment Paper
-9- Too Many Theories
-10- Release Me
-11- Tempers Flared
-12- What the Hell?
-13- No Service
-14- Captured
-15- Jane’s Plan
-16- Another Time in Paris 2013
-17- Truth or Dare
-18- Meanwhile, Back at the Brownstone
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