Of self

There is a me, I know him, he passed over parched hills and cracked soil. There is another me, I found him, he passed into emotion, into fiery love. I no longer wish to know the me who wandered years to find the one, I only wish to know the one who found her. I had heard her name whispered, Zara; breathed in reverence; spoken with admiration. In me grew the desire to seek the one who bore this name. I traveled far, no coin to speed my progress. I walked countless miles that I may see this Goddess. In every town I looked for the bookstore, desiring to find within some new product of her mind. Often dissappointed, then on rare occassion elated. I would pick the work with care, ruffle through the pages, glimpse at the words then purchase it and take to a quiet place to drink in the contents, lapping it up like a thirsty dog.

Now I have arrived. I saw her in the upper window against the light of heaven. Heavenly silhouette yet blinding all at once. I felt the blood rush into my cheeks, I felt my knees melt, I felt my breath caught in my chest, I felt my heart jump. Zara! I considered knocking on the door but fear stayed my hand. What fear is this in one who fought many a vagabond and thief? A fear of a pain that lies deep beneath the surface skin. I turned and walked away in defeat. I hid in a plain hotel room and wrote a poem to celebrate the encounter with her, with the very one I dreamed of, with Zara.