Feel kind of...

I don't know, dirty. It's kind of weird when you get a little crush on a pretty face that you don't know. Then one day you happen across their words with out them knowing and you peek and you feel something with in you stir...

There is something magical about reading someone else words. They are the key hole of the door to the inside of someone's soul, heart, and mind... So they are powerful and touching they can change your thoughts about someone in an instant.

So ya I feel a little dirty... A face of an angel that is pry way too far out of reach for me to ever touch, but still there, and brushes by once in a great blue moon. An that's all it was, a face a beautiful beautiful face that I could just look at, and not have to think too much about. Vain and shallow I know, I know but some time you just want that, the face, the fantasy.

Then it happened, I cam across the face's words. FUCK! Could it possibly be that they are just as beautiful if not more than the face its self? They are haunted, hopeful, moving, deep and thought filled. Longing and wanting the words keep echoing familiar songs that have poured from my own pen. I'm left speechless as I strain my eyes to keep looking through the key hole to see more.

Why should this make me feel dirty? Well to know how personal my own words are, how it's like stripping me complete bare, letting these huge moments of vulnerability lay here naked and open. Knowing this about my words, I continue to poor over the body of work from this beautiful face, like a lustful voyeur feeding an addiction.
My skin prickles and and my eyes glisten as I feverishly race to the next entry to read more.

I am such a terrible hypocrite. I go on an on for days, months and years about my loss in faith of true love, yet I read more and can't deny the stupid grin on me face or the memory of all the words that have flooded from my own pen of kisses in the rain, aching hearts,and longing fingertips tracing their way cross pillows in search for the body to be lying there. I am pry the most cynical hopeless romantic you will ever meet and now in these moments of lustful gluttony for poetry, I'm brought to my knees in forgiveness to the saints, of all romantic and wistful loves. Forgive me father for I have sinned...