The fluttering of eyelids turns to the flutter of my love muscle as drowsiness is blinked away and the focus of my affections is pulled to the forefront of my vision. The sun not yet risen, Sunshine not yet awake. A night of peace filled slumber--silky sheets and satin skin, dreams so memorable and yet forgotten the moment consciousness is found, surely she was the focal point of my melatonin induced fantasies, the apple of my eye both open and closed.

The sky a canvas, tangy tangerine inked across the horizon with specks of vicious violet, the early morning light just seeping through the window and casting a spotlight onto the star of my galaxy, the light source that pushes flora through the soil and tints skin with a lasting hue. Her light being one so strongly present that its absence is sorely noted, unavoidably unwelcoming days of storms that flash fierce strikes of lighting and whipping winds that force you to the ground, rain attacking numbed skin and sending shivers through the shot nervous system.

Fingers wrapped around a preciously placed wrist to remove it from its resting place over a thumping heart, a palm placed under a heavy head with gracefully flittering eyelashes and hiccuped breaths to remove it from its resting place on a broad shoulder. Legs unwrapped from intertwined limbs that tangle organs and knot heartstrings, feet tapping sheets to find footing on the floor to step back from art.

A skillfully structured statue placed in the center of a fantastical frame, porcelain extremities and razzled waves stretch across the canvas of fabric at the newfound space. A work of art meant to be studied, to stare intently at each intricate detail to commit them to memory. A work of art outwardly awkward--a golden tinge slapped atop scarlet tresses, thin limbs draped in freckled flesh, a disastarously disingenuous depiction of discomfort and disinterest dashes across dazzling features desperately displaying a desire to be disregarded due to depravity of delight. A work of art incessantly attractive--naturally nurturing, carefully compassionate, frustratingly funny, bewitchingly beautiful, a catastrophically charming characterization of curio collapses continuously carved confines convoluted to create a calculated construction of conveyed carelessness.

She is a work of art. Handcrafted by higher powers to descend upon my delinquent domain of desolate disgrace to shed needed light upon barren fields that were once flourishing stretches of flush forests. Impressively intelligent introspections scribbled down to articulate incomparable ideologies of reflections discovered through individual experiences of pain, mutual experiences of joy, singular experiences of life, the object of my heart.

She is a work of art. Carved by a singular sentient soul to develop intricacies of individualities. Minutiae of mango milkshakes and 'pretty pleases with cherries on top.' Nuances of natural vermilion curls and 'I want to be brights.' Secrets of sincere sensuality and 'worship me thens.' Complications of constricting pasts and 'I should've known betters.' Complexities of Sunshine, stardust and dribbles of delicious syrup that sticks to skin and leaves tooth achingly sweet smiles spread across rouged cheeks.

I take a deep breath of air, my lungs stinging from the disbelief flooding my system. Waves of electricity splash across the shores of my brain at the inconsolable adoration I harbor for her. A singular boat tied by a threading rope to a lonely dock, a singular sailor sits cross legged on the deck as he stares out at the harsh waves that could lead him to a land of Sunshine. Barrels stocked with glass jars that hold shouted secrets of desire and whispered whimpers of prospection.

She is a work of art.

A work of art worthy studying.

A work of art that requires lifelong dedication to discover each desperately decetant detail--each freckle, each hue in her opulent irises, each spiral of each strand of her hair, each syllable spilled from her lips, each thought derived from her mind, each hitch of her flustered breath, each beat of her handsome heart.

I could spend a lifetime studying her.

A lifetime of study to never know.

An eternity without expertise.

But to be a novice is greater than to be a stranger.

The sailor stands as I step back from the mattress, he gushes admittances of adoration as he pulls the sails and the wind whips against them fruitlessly. His calloused hands untie the intricate knot that holds the ship to the wooden harbor. I blink away thoughts that confirm deep rooted dismay. He steps below the top deck to his inventory of empty jars, scanning the shelves upon shelves of blown glass to find a suitable fixture to confide in. My footsteps speed in pace as I stumble away from the silhouette of Sunshine spread across rumpled sheets. His labored palms unscrew the top of his confidant as he takes in salty sucks of air to fuel his screams. I crash into the door with a jump as I fiddle with the handle. The scream that shreds his vocal cords and strains his lungs is expelled into the jar's opening, the sound reverberating off the plane of the jar before the lid gripped tightly in his hand is screwed back on to prevent any secrets from spilling into the wind where proding ears could hear.

A lifetime of novice knowledgeability of Sunshine is preferable to a second in the dark.

I'd walk across hot coals and scour to the ends of the earth for her affections to be returned, I'd dive to the ocean floor with water infiltrating my lungs and send myself to the ends of the galaxy for her interest to be on me. I would sacrifice myself and sell my soul for her to be the basis of my eternal inquiries.

He ascends to the ship's deck, jar in towe. He contemplates burying it deep down in the barrels of other temporary tribulations before concluding that it will rest with him at the helm of the ship as his first mate. It's delicately placed at the base of the wheel as he saunters to the barrel of discarded desires. He grips the lid of the jar that rests atop his collection, his latest discarded desire, one so closely resembling his first mate it would take a magnifying glass of great measure to find the distinctions between them. The lid is unscrewed as he allows the shrieks of yearning to fuel his sails, sending his ship away from the dock and onto the rough ocean's current. He is now hopelessly navigating the seas of insecurity to find lands of lush lawns and sickly sweets and superbly sparkling Sunshine.

The door is thrown open and the brisk morning air bites my skin. I slowly close the door behind me to find my seat on the platform, my legs swinging as I dig my hands into my scalp as I try to throw the thoughts from my mind. Although desires are strong, they are not steadfast, the unmatched strength of reciprocal regard and endearment are the finality.

I need stronger winds than a single jar of momentary lust to propel the vessel of my love muscle through violent waves of insecurity that send my ship tipping and waterlogging the deck with lingering mistrust. A proper gust of salty air, one that's steadfast and passionate, will be what lands my boat onto a shore with sugar granules for sand, water crests the flavor of buttercream frosting, fondant flora, and a littering of coconuts.

A paradise is not one that is found within a day, it's one that's developed through various seasons of life. Seasons of bitter cold and fiery heat. Seasons of growth and change. A life of experiences, a life of fully formed figures rather than acting apparitions.

Her life, years upon years of seasons of bitter cold, few of fiery heat, all of growth and change. A fully formed figure and yet still acting as an apparition. The mist that surrounds her is one of self-made isolation, a haze that closes her off from anything, anyone who could possibly add more weight to her already crippling chains.

Her ball and chain, linked together over years and years of dismantling a bright source of Sunshine and forcing her under the horizon, welded by each inadmissible statement of discontent by her mother, reinforced by the permanent absence of her father, fortified by the destruction of innocence by him.

He won't let me run my fingers through the silkened tendrils of her hair. He won't let me laze in the true hue of the waves that sprout from her scalp. He won't let me leave tender marks of carnal desire littered on her frame. He won't let me truly taste what it's like to bask in the heat of Sunshine.

She carries the weight of such a lonesome burden so gracefully--spinning in circles to avoid consumption, two-stepping to dodge the everlasting isolation, tangoing with the demons that she calls cellmates in the innermost abyss of her mind. The core of the star is one so dark that not even the brightest light could illuminate it--self-acceptance, self-admittance is the only tool able to dig a tunnel to allow for lava to irradiate and warm the shuddering fears that hold the star back from casting its light blindingly over the vista.

With burning feet and singed hands, I'll dig to her core with a measly metal spoon in any hopes of aiding the lava to flow into her mind and melt the cold bars of steel that keep her captive to disingenuous lies that have become the foundation of her constant reflections.

Reflections I've stared at in the face through the image mirrored off a loose liquor bottle and stern tongues. A stolen sip of a spirit from elder's liquor cabinets to forget honest confessions of distaste.

'It's your fault he's gone.'

With swift smacks and thunderous shouts.

'You're a fool to think that piece of shit guitar and baseless dream will get you anywhere.'

With cracking wood and eager retorts.

'Only a mother as idiotic as yours would foster a dream like yours.'

With the ice of pavement and pitch black of a garage.

'Think of what you've caused.'

Until headlights flashed on a deer-in-headlights and the horn blared.

Of course, alcohol rushed through my veins as angered admittances rang in my ears. Of course, alcohol churned in my gut as I stared off during lessons. Of course, alcohol was forced down at first until it was downed like water festered in my liver as I went from one boarding school to another. Each stay shorter than the last.

'He's already a drunk, nothing to do with him now.'

'We do not tolerate this behavior, our standard is excellence.'

'You'll have to find a school for boys like him, it won't be this one.'

The final straw wasn't the comatose state of me or the damage I'd done to their home. The final straw was the damage I'd done to their wallet. It was either a sleep-filled journey across the vast ocean to a shabby record store with forced smiles and exhausting encouragement or a life of shivering on the streets filled with my fears. Almost twelve hours over the sea later and an unknown number of pills later, here I sit.

I don't remember the usually panic inducing drive to the airport, or the flight through the sky, or the typically teeth-chattering, nauseating car ride to the place where I now reside. An entire period of my life left unaccounted for, a time that I graciously remained unconscious for.

So many times I wished to fall asleep on the hard ground of that garage in London to never wake up. So many times I prayed that the shouts of betrayal would all turn out to be hallucinations contrived in my slumber. So many times I begged to be taken away, to be giving a flashlight to find the door out.

A nightmarish forest of crunching bones and splintering screams, the first I navigated for nearly six years alone as hellish figures chased behind me, hot on my trail. Twisted limbs dangled from the trunks and screeches of tires was the vast frightful fantasy my mind created whilst I sat huddled in the corner of that depot. Not a splinter of light, a speck of hope, until finally, a clearing. A clearing, a warm meadow of lush green grass and amber waves dusted with Sunshine, brilliant blazes of bright light wrapped around the horizon that dragged me through the dark.

She is the tangy tangerine sunrise that disposes of vicious violet nights, she is the lightsource I always begged for. She is more than I ever dreamed of, better than I ever could have imagined. She is nothing but reflections upon reflections of every cotton-candy cloud and crash of waves of buttercream upon the shore, she is nothing but a reflection of the person I prayed to find.

She is everything I craved and nothing that I feared.

She is a work of art.

And all I've ever needed.

The sailor hears a sweet siren song that travels amongst the gusts of winds to whittle its way into his unsuspecting ear, it calls to him, cries to him, pleads to him to follow it. Its pitch and tone so beautiful he'd be a fool to ignore it, he turns his ship off it's wayward path of insignificance to be led by the guidance of his muse. Her voice the sound of shooting stars and her lips the shape of loving hearts, he imagines her to be exactly what he's been searching for, his usher to paradise.

The door creaks open, footsteps pad across the metal until arms wrap around my shoulders and legs wrap around my waist. A nimble statue of natural beauty rests in my lap, a button down hap-hazardly wrapped around her bare chest as he presses plush kisses to my cheeks and whispers sweetness into my ears. Her frazzled hair brushes across my eyes as she settles herself to look into my eyes, her irises glossed from drowsiness. My palms grip at her waist and thumbs rub circles against her hips as she blinks away sleep. I watch as small breaths push her chest to vibrate as her lips part to let them out, I study the faint freckles of her cheeks and shades of irises. I stare shamelessly at the spirals of sleep-sullied hair. The fingers of one of my hands tiptoe their way up the shirt to find the thumping of her heart, feeling a single beat before letting it fall back to the dip in her waist.

Our glances catch again, her pupils casting a reflection of my heavy-eyed state. "Sunrises are the most beautiful part of the day," she mutters out as her attention is turned momentarily to the mirror of her aura spread across the atmosphere before pressing a kiss to my lips.

All I can do is spread my palms against her back and pull her close, resting my head in the crook of her neck and humming out, "The sun is finally awake."