It's a sad thing I cannot be my normal self when I am with her; the past week saw me waking up from a seemingly unnecessarily long dream. Gradually, I became myself again, albeit a little tired.

I remembered I like women who read. Someone who could and would challenge me intellectually. Someone who could and would endure my eccentricities and oft socially unacceptable behaviour, and perhaps even have the heart to find it endearing. Her mind would be a sliver of ice - clear, sharp and discerning, yet ever ready to melt for the compassion that is surely in her heart. And her eyes, endless oceans of starry nights. She would move like the wind would through the woods and o'er the meadows, and her caress just as soft. When she sings, let Life tremble and Time weep in its passing. And when she loves... when she loves... let her be the morning sun that chases away the darkness and despair of the long, wintery night.

It's fear that gives Men wings, but Love which ultimately lets them fly.

Let me be ready when she comes, and

with the tap of a toe,

and the skip of a foot,

together,


take flight.