Burnt onto the pages of my ancient history, is the story of our love; a spiritual decree. Penned onto the memory of my simple, fleeting life, is the epic of our union, quite beautifully described. I am stunned by the depth of your soul. Shall I be forever mystified? And this evening, brazenly confetti’d up on a Hollywood freeway overpass, I saw your initials set upon a fractured heart. While my soul bleeds adoration in silence, I wonder, “Is this loves crucifixion? Is this how Mary felt in the garden?” An answer is of no consequence, for what I shall remember long after I have died, is the memory of your face, indelibly inscribed.