Passion. It is a powerful word that encompasses a powerful thing. Passion is the driving force of life. The main thing you love to do in your life, is a result of this word. Whether your passion is a sane one like saving lives, or an insane one like taking lives, there is a reason you do it. And that reason is passion. And how do I know this? I know this because I have learned it. I learned this, because I've studied it. And I study this, because one can never know enough. It was a lesson taught by a cruel, and wicked world. My name is Alejandro Miguel Santos. But my friends, they call me Alex. And I am passion personified.
Now I know what you're thinking. How dare I stake a claim to such a name, right? Well allow me to explain dear reader. You see, there have been many philosophers throughout our recorded history. Some have been similar, and some have been vastly different. But throughout their respective works, there was one commonality that they exploited. And that was possessing a way with words. But it was through this way, that they sought celebrity. Not a celebrity, in the sense, of how we know the word today. But rather, in those times, it was believed that if a man accomplished many great feats, or told many great stories, that their names would be passed down from generation to generation. In the hopes, of metaphorically living forever.
This is where they and I differ. For you see, it was through their expressions and their public acknowledgement of such, that they achieved their status. I, however, seek no such fanfare. I hide myself behind veils of secrecy, and submerse myself in the shadows of this world. And I do this, so that the readers and reciters of my work, may deeply connect with the material and not its' maker. For I am not imporant. At least not in that sense. I am merely a passenger in this most unconventional shell of mine. So many will glare upon my shortcomings and faults, as if they were the only parts of me that were visible. But when I express myself, my second greatest passion, I can then take the form that your mind covets the most. Whether it is the soul who lies besides you every night, or the soul that slipped through your grasp. I am them. I become your deepest wish.
And whether you approve of the words inside the work, is truly irrelevant. All that matters, is that you take something from it, dear reader. Take something from it, and find a way to make it your own. And now that I have explained my purpose, and have elaborated on my second greatest passion, allow me to share with you, my first. The penultimate. The alpha that proceeds all omegas. My greatest passion, dear friend, is woman. More specifically, a woman. Most specifically, her.
Her face dances inside my mind, with each breath I take. No matter how shallow, or strenuous the breath maybe, her face glows in my cerebrum. She is like a shining pillar of divinity, entrenched in the sweetest sins of man. For if this world is merely a stone, in my mind she rises out of it, like the Excalibur of old, begging for me to come and take her in my grasp. With these hard and calloused hands, worn through the labors of the land. And these arms that I possess, seems to fit her shape so well. She can fit perfectly into them, like the final piece, to the puzzle known as life. Or if she so chooses, she could slip and fall into said arms, and she wouldn't feel a thing.
To feel her lips press to mine, I can taste the slowing of the sands. That now crawl inside the hourglass, because they take too long to fall. Her kiss can be as gentle as a mother's touch. Or it can be as violent as the movement of a killer's blade. We kiss each other's lips so hard, that our teeth begin to ache. But when our faces slightly part, the lips bear no scars or signs of the chance we take. And our tongues collide, like sadistic tides, on the face of masochistic shores. And they wrap around the other, like a hidden spider's web. Only to pull away and retreat, like those oblivious, to the finer art of war.
And her fingertips greet my skin, like the waters of the river Jordan. Gently washing over open wounds and sealing them slowly with each passing wave. And much to my surprise, she longs to feel my touch as well. And believe me when I say, her skin's reaction to my touch, is like a letter scribed in braille. While quietly she prays, that my hands will be the shepard, that's determined not to fail. When guiding her way through the darkness, in the corners of her mind. To then reveal the greater things, that those corners choose to hide.
Like the flashing fantasies of when our temples merge. Serenade by the echoes of her shortened breath, that my movements saught to purge. As her hands slithered in my flowing hair, she whispered stern demands. Like increasing speeds, or gentle shifts just before I felt her hands. As they surveyed my waiting back, and her nails had pierced the skin. And I became a martyr for these shared beliefs, as the blood had poured again. But dear friend, I minded not, for tonight I'll be reborn. And the skin I'll fight to shed, will be discarded once it's torn. Away from the sweating body, she wrapped her legs around. As I would thrust until my arms, mirrored the ancient pillars fallen down.
And I as collapsed into her arms, my thoughts began to flow. Racing steadily in sync, are the things I'd like to know. For if my mind is like an river, shall I drag the river's bed? And disturb all that lays at rest, until I find the three words I've never said. And sure enough I found them there, and said them aloud to her. And it was then she flashed a smile, that was surely the greatest to occur. Then she said, "darling I'm so glad to hear the words, that I've been so long denied. You are my man, you are my king. You are my passion personified."
And there you have it. Our passion. God's greatest gift to man.
While she, is God's greatest gift to me.
Thank you for reading.
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