Between the Shadow and the Soul

I really really like this.

DAMN IT

Flint popped into my head and wouldn't let me be, so I started a short story a few days ago with the working title 'Feeding the Tree.' It was my intention to just go ahead and kill him off. Cadmus Pariah was going to use Flint's Blood to baptize the Tree in much the same way he dyed the Landon Dunlevy mask with Faust's Blood. But now, I keep getting these needling thoughts about how to let Flint escape one more time. I can count the the weaker Vampires who have escaped Cadmus' homicidal nature on one hand, and still have fingers left.

I can't justify Flint surviving another encounter with Cadmus, but I'm loath to let him be destroyed. I like Flint, and not because of his anchor. I think he's funny and wicked and sexy and OH SO UNCONCERNED with everything. I like that he has no problem with enjoying the pleasures of the flesh with both females and males. I like that he's a walking thrift store. I dig on his weird phosphorescent eyes.

It's all pretty well pissing me off.

XVII (I Do Not Love You)

XVII (I do not love you...)

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

~~~~~~Pablo Neruda

Holy Mother...