She knew so few tangible aspects of his mysterious presence. Everything about him, about these soulful déjà vu like encounters, represented ultimate insanity, but she came to terms with that inevitable fact. She could feel a rush of blood dropping from the ceilings of her heart each time she yearned to be near him yet she was not too delusional as to think her love would ever, could possibly ever, be returned.
It was easy, so sweetly simple to wrap herself up in the warm quilt with patchwork stitched together by foolish beliefs and comforting day dreams. And in those dreams she never played the character of herself. Coincidentally, none of the characters in those dreams had faces that corresponded with names or names that corresponded with faces. There was no pairing of personality to physicality. It was in those dreams she escaped to her paradise where the world had no knowledge of anything other than bliss. Because one doesn't know that happiness until they have been stripped of their labels and learn to exist just to exist.
Legacy is fallacy and religion is a crutch for the sheep following the unpaved path to righteousness. She chose neither, but rather to live in her head, where meaning true had no purpose and purpose truly had no meaning.
