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Tell me
what you might be willing
to go without
in the name of love.
Tell me when it was,
the last time
you saw a sky so beautiful
it made you weep,
or the first time
you stayed up all night
listening to the song
of your desire.
Tell me
the color of your soul
and whether you’ve come
face to face with despair,
and how your inner grace
measures up to temptation.
Tell me all about
that time you stood up
for something you believed in
and got punished for it,
and tell me how
you’ve come to live
your life after that.
Tell me how it felt
back when you held
a wonder in your hands
and tell me how far
and how long you fought
to protect it.
Tell me about your fears,
your greatest risks,
and all the questions
that you have the answers to
yet still come to haunt you.

Show to me
that you are human,
flawed but true,
but that you have also
sought to cast
a reflection of divinity
in the way you choose
to spend your share
of borrowed time,
because there seems to be
not enough passion here
for all this beauty
and if I were to share
my story, it would be
with one for whom the words
have the same dark shadows and
echo off the same depths,
and the telling nothing less
than a burning,
or a drowning,
or the purest silence.

“Senses” by photographer Brigitta Szontagh


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