If someone could lift the basin of your pain and empty it over the endless world, lakes would swell and push their bounds to make new rivers. They'd flow to the sea as ever and as high, for the ocean has always flowed over mountaintops. But your pain would push it higher, driving the shores inward upon themselves until the tallest land-locked peak were covered.
The clouds know no dew like this, and God with all His 40 days and 40 nights would flounder in your flood.
Still, remember my dear, that the phoenix of your love flies ever over the glassy front. Tides will ebb and flow as they do and eventually he will make his perch. There, the crimson creature of your love will nest, burn and rise again, a fact that you will never change; for it ensures while you're in pain, your love unfailingly remains.
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