Prospect; Love; Possibilities.

All it takes to get me out of a depression is the prospect of a woman. For better or worse, I am a creature who lives and dies by love. My veins flows with it, my words all mold the air to it, my gaze reaches for it. When I talk to others, it is either despair or love that I am addressing. I have so much love to give. But I don't want to be used, hurt, made servile, emasculated. I want to be the man I am with no compromise, my gallant and spirited heart intact and fully engaged. And I want to love someone who can take it, and will love me back, and will enjoy every moment along the way. Romance never died. It just went and hid when the industrial revolution made its bid. But here I am now, waiting for someone to take my hand, waiting for the trust and the dignity that lies this way, praying we can make it across the hurdles of modern cynicism to the fertile fields beyond, where love greens the land, where I shall take your hand and dance a merry tune, lay you in the grass and kiss you till the noon, hold you all the while the sun completes its duties, and then truly: Take you in my arms at night to cast away the shadows that madly play so cruelly, and watch you like an angel sleeping, upon my breast, the sheets cool as april's breezing. I will greet you when we wake with the smile of no ordinary couple. For the world that is mine shall be yours, and we are free so the world is our playground, and all around us are possibilities. You take my breath away. I give it back, in the form of a kiss and touch on the cheek, your humble soldier of love dedicated to your happiness and freedom. With aims of my own, supporting yours, never a stone turned looking for love or understanding, it is all here in our eyes, in our words, in our clasped hands. I want to be your lover, your light, your shoulder of comfort, your man. And man and woman together make whole - tis only light from the morning sun that shows us our world, that reveals it in full.