As I sit here, alone in this one room apartment my thoughts turn to you as they have so often. My mind roams though I wish it not to. Bereaved by that knave “Misfortune” of love’s proof and the vessels of memories rewritten in the emptiness of truth. My beloved, my angel my greatest of lies you are more than you once seen through these eyes. A vision of you graces the recesses of my mind. My eyes strain and I am blinded by pain as your vision erases before my minds eye can see that face that Faustus sought. Oh, for but one glimpse of you my soul too could be bought. So I burden my pen to encompass your beauty but it snaps under the weight of my words. I, the mute genius perched above hell’s doors as the hour, the hours, the hours… If only they were ours. Our love, our heaven, our greatest of lies we are more than us once seen through these eyes.