desire is a really strange thing. it makes you desperately crave for someone you usually don't really know, it makes you weak and it makes you depressed if the one you desire doesn't answer to this feeling deep inside of you. and now the only thing I can really think of is his shoulders, his long and slim fingers, his soft skin and his smile - still a mystery to me. the reason why i'm so into him is that i see him like a kind of soulmate, we are pretty much the same. we both want to get lost into the infinity of the road. i really really don't want to lose him.

no matter what, we'll never be united again. it's just like we were Siamese twins cut in two just after the birth. you're my sister I've never felt. I'm your brother you've never seen or heard. if only we could track back the very moment of the cutting, the sharp blade of knife, I often wonder how and why our mother let that happen? didn't she see, didn't she feel that it was going to be the biggest mistake of her life? How was she possible to allow the doctors to do this? didn't she know that it's not so easy as it may seem, it just isn't possible to seperate two spirits which were as one for nine, for christ's sake, for nine months! nine months of feeling the other one as close as if you weren't seperated by different bodies, different parts of body more precisely, at all. and yet we are seperated now. i don't know where you are now, I've never seen you again since the moment of our birth yet I can recall your face, ain't that strange? they say it's not possible, they accuse me for inventing you, your face, all this experience, dreadful experience, but you know that it was for real, don't you? Dear sister, sometimes I feel you through my days full of boredom and nights, full of despair. I hear your silent humming through the rain and sometimes I even see you when I drive by that dark green forest near my hometown. there you are, sitting on the side of the road. and I can see you even through the fog of the road - or because of it. Sister, I know we're gonna never meet again but I still feel you every day, every hour, every minute. You're always present, yet never here

Lines written during a period of insanity

Hatred and vengeance, my eternal portion,
Scarce can endure delay of execution,
Wait with impatient readiness to seize my
  Soul in a moment.

Damned below Judas; more abhorred than he was,
Who for a few pence sold his holy Master.
Twice-betrayed Jesus me, the last delinquent,
  Deems the profanest.

Man disavows, and Deity disowns me;
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;
Therefore Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all
  Bolted against me.

Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers,
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors,
I'm called, if vanquished, to receive a sentence
  Worse than Abiram's.

Him the vindictive rod of angry Justice
Sent quick and howling to the centre headlong;
I, fed with judgement, in a fleshy tomb, am
  Buried above ground.

/William Cowper (1773?)