I feel an aching in my heart for something more than what I have.
Maybe more friends. A companion. A soul.
I feel nothing that I wanted.
But art keeps me here. I feel alive when I hear music.
Jazz, classical. Corny country songs and old school rap.
I can feel the pores of my skin open up to soak it in.
I can feel it inside when I think of what I love. The deep sea, the deep sky.
I've learned about the true meaning of platonic love in art history.
It's beautiful and we've been using it wrong for years.
I await him, Bacchus, to find my abandoned self on an all forgotten shoreline.
I'm going to be full again. I'm going to encounter those resplendent structures from the inside.
I will touch the walls underneath the hands of the architect.
And I will build myself into something new and strong.
I will live on for centuries and I will endure this storm.