No poetry required

I
.
.
.
can't
.
.
.
get
.
.
.
you
.
.
.
out
.
.
.
of
.
.
.
my
.
.
.
head.

I only knew you from the stroke of your brush

excerpts:

"I know where I stand then, I in front, you in the back. One day, it will be you in front and I'll be in the back of the room, applauding with the rest of the heads with listening ears. Cheering you on. May that day come. May you shine ever brighter, so that in our distance I would still be able to see the strokes of your brush."

Close One Chapter, Open Another.

The Dark Ages has passed. The plague has left the corpses in the streets, orphans we are all as civilization is in smoldering ruin. Never forget, tomorrow's sun brings about the Golden Age.

-----

My life, if you read on, has been topsy-turvy to say the least, but now it seems a great divide has come. Tectonic forces has shifted and life will never ever be the same. Me, here, standing in a flimsy bridge upon a canyon with thousands of nothingness beneath me. There, my life behind me with all its chaos and rage, poisonous deceit and insatiable greed, hatefully staring at me as I leave its plateau. Before me, the great unknown. The life I have always dreamed is finally before me. Shining and brilliant as promised. Still far away. Fear creeps. The violent winds push and sway. The storm coming, threatening and looming. Is the fear from falling or failing? Or am I afraid to finally live in Paradise without a knife in my hand? Life is fragile now. One wrong move, one slip, one crack, and I fall into nothingness. No turning back.