On one night, not so very long ago, I sat alone.  Was in my study,
my private sanctuary, locked beyond all other souls.  I was safe from
intrusion there, as I always was, I had made sure of that many ages
ago.
    My sanctuary, I had not thought of it as such at one time, but it
has grown to be such.  Sanctuary, from what do I need sanctuary? Then,
I had thought the idea inane, not now...never again, without
sanctuary, one risks loss of soul to the forces beyond our
understanding.  However, that was all long ago, this is more recent,
and has led me to wonder if there ever is sanctuary.
    On this night, mere over a week gone by I'd say, I was reading a
tome brought to me by a newfound friend.  A tome of curious matters,
dwelling on such things as how to capture the love of wild animals,
and hypocracies of the dead. Anyhow, I had nothing better to do, so I
was reading it.  Amidst pondering of what the dead had to do with wild
animals, and where the hypocracy mixed with love, I must've fallen
asleep, for there is no other way to explain the haze in which I
remember the next part of that evening.
    Twas as though twilight had struck my room, in the darkest of the
darkest nights, the lamp had burned out, leaving no other form of
light but the vision. I had thought it so then, a mere vision,
illusory, and had therefore felt sure that it could do me no harm.  It
approached me from an empty wall, for it needed no doors, no windows,
no method of this world wouldst affect this.  It glowed a colour that
I felt sure should be purple, there was red, and there was blue, in
the same place, unmixing though they were, it leant to this figure the
serenity of calm blue water, with the chaotic misalignment of a
burning rage.  It had the shape of a woman, a dream amidst a dreamy
glow.  I could not but concentrate upon her face, but it was just that
which I could not make out.  I knew it to be a beauty to match all
else, yet would not be shown it to be true.
    At this time did I notice my chair and desk, all furnishings in my
room, to be gone, as if they never meant to be there.  Just a room, if
that, empty.  I would call it empty, but it did not seem so, it was
filled more than I could ever do myself.  Her beckoning was not to me,
no, it was to me, but not that I could understand.
    Her body inspired in me desirous thoughts, bringing every inch of
my skin to a tingling, sizzling, excited fervor.  But I did not notice
then, it was her beckoning, that entrancing song that she sang to my
heart.  From that moment, I felt a draw to enter her world and forsake
my being, to give up my tranquil, pleasant, even perfect life, to be
with that voice, that burning, soothing, delicious, beckoning voice.
I would not have been stopped from doing so, were it my choice to
make.  But she left.  She happened upon me, captured my soul, and fled
with it, leaving me not but sorrow.
    Deep, painful sorrow, were I not in such depression as would keep
my eyes upon the spot at which I saw her in my dreamlike scene, I
would have sought to end it.  Were I to try, I fear I would pierce my
heart, and the bleeding pain would spread throughout the world and
merely blacken what little is light, and never let me die, that I may
see my pain spread, that I may see the end of all joy, for my foolish
care, for my heartful desire.
    I sat at that point for a day, fearing to move, to move would
upset the balance of the room, remove forever all and any feeling or
memory of her.  I sat for two, she did not come back, nor did the
outside world notice my absence.  It was as though in stealing my
soul, she stole my truth, my being, indeed, my life as twas.
    I waited, on the third day did she return, filling my mind with
ecstatial desire, ferverously trying to call out, to go to her, to
give in to her, and I could see that she knew, that is was what she
was there for.  To reach me so, to go to her, to enter the haze and
light and forever be beyond all that I could know.  Why then.  Why did
she not let me?
    Her eyes.  I could see her eyes. Deep, troubled, but so full that
I could fall deeply in love with them alone.  I could live forever
just knowing the sight of those eyes, just remembering the soleful
quality of her.  I wanted just that.  Just to know her eyes.  I was
satisfied with that merety.
    She was gone again.  I was allowed her eyes, but no other, no time
for remembrence, nothing for me.  I could never remember what I saw,
only a glimpse of the feeling I got from her presence, only a sight of
the deepness of her eyes.  Only the insight to the joy she created
within my being.  Such is what I lose as my soul is taken from me.
    She returned, again, again.  And once remained long enough for my
mind to remember her eyes.  Now forever during my days do I remember
her.  She always comes at a time when I am in my sanctuary, so I have
gone back about my life, but it is still as though I was not gone.  I
worry not about these insignificant quirks, instead I seek to become
closer to her, to give her my mind and body that my soul be not alone
in her grasp.  Yet all I have is a feeling of her eyes, all I may have
is her sight, her glorious vision.  The rest is denied me, and for how
much longer I shall not know.
    Mind you, sanctuary does not exist, not from this one, not ever.
There will always be an exception to the rule, and this is an
exception that abides no rules.  You may call it love, but can even
love reach so deep inside of you to make you wish yourself upon it,
even knowing full and clear the consequences of your choice, your
pain, your future, all felt in an instant of pain and joy, not even
love can reach this measure.  What be she?  I do not know, but I await
the time when she will take me whole, and I shall leave you all, and
my sanctuary shall be empty of me, a sanctuary unto itself.