L.P.

I have once heard the story of a flame upon wax. Dancing and enjoying existence without a concern of the critique of outsiders.

You are doing the tango with wind. You are ballroom dancing with nature. You are dancing salsa with God.

Your existence is a simple one... without necessity and without fear.

How can one achieve such a stable relationship with nature? How can so much beauty be possible?

The way you live is art to me. Your existence stretched out before me like canvas upon wood. Paint layered across the already perfect cream palatte of your existance.

"How?" I whisper. "How can you be so happy? What is this secret to existence you possess?"

You smile and say nothing.

Your smile intoxicates me and is a glorious orchestra of answers without ever speaking a word.

There is no necessity for words here. Time itself has been quietly set aside and retired, weary and relieved to have a much needed break.

You dance for me. The shadows behind you are so large upon the wall. Larger than anything I have ever seen.

You tell me of all my existance without having to think or process anything.

I am in the presence of God by having the pleasure to view your existance. I have been gifted the art of watching you move... watching you dance... watching you smile.

I will always be intoxicated by your eyes.

I will always be intoxicated by your smile.

I will always be intoxicated by your temperance.

I will always be intoxicated by simply knowing that you breathe.