possibilities.

'I was never insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.'- Edgar Allan Poe


And you had touched me, all right. Cashmere fingers of the Midas touch.. Shivering, slithering light cut through the glass to accentuate the already burning passions inside. A room on fire. Two hearts in flames. Their forms clung to silver like a second skin set alight from some hell-bent furnace within. Frozen hands leave behind golden trails laden with the crackling question of possibility... what is the warmth of love supposed to feel like? Tell me, for when I feel the heat of a thousand needles of icy rain, I know that I've found it.

whatever it may be.


and thus begins.. the paradoxical insanity of what was, what is, and what  could be.

possibilities.