I Wince

I wince, when I think of her sadness like a
throbbing pain of a deep sliver embedded
within me, I quiver, shake with each ache
she feels.

I endure her pain, with an intense fever, which
burns my very heart, singeing my passion and
blackens my mood.

I can’t control it; this is how I feel. Her depth
within me, is so deep so entrenched, that I must
trudge through what crosses she must bear.

Do you understand this, can you feel this - my
passion of her despair. Can you see this love -
this love on a different level, beyond the years
of life? Can you even imagine…

Imagine my heart; imagine her pain of life, her
days of thought and breath. Now throw this ball
of unimaginable pain and fury into the air, let it
glow in its madness…

Let the fire from within her, build, bursting in
tears. This heavy ball, which is driven from her
and into my chest…, weighing upon my heart,
burning into my helpless being, my useless
words - as they cannot help her. Then imagine
how I feel, how I feel…how I feel.

I wince, because that is all I can do. I wince,
because I want to feel her pain, I want to take it
away…I want to take it all away.

If I could die on this day, knowing that she
would be free for life - I would die… I would
take all her pain, and wrap it in my arms, hold it
as tight as I could, and suffer with a smile on my
face.

Some may say, that is too much, who can bear
such madness, such love, such passion. I say
too little, too late; my job, my love for her, is to
suffer, and hers is to love…and to love freely.

I want to wince, I need to wince; this is all I can
offer her, I can only give her my heart, as my
words have no real meaning, but my heart is for
life - this life I can offer.

This life, I wince for her.