The dark side of the morning...

He wanted something else, something different, something more. Romance was for the ordinary, the mundane. Perhaps quiet conversations in candlelit rooms, or maybe something as simple as not being second. For he is not in search of sanctity, sacredness, purity, and all these things are found after life, not in this existence. Because here and now he strives to be completely human: to feel, to give, to take, to laugh, to get lost, to be found, to dance, to love and to lust. To be so human.

I have found recently that passion is something we all posses. It lies in all of us - sleeping, waiting, and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir, open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us, guides us, rules us, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred, the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear, yet if we could live without it, maybe we'd know some kind of hallow peace. Cluttered in empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.