KINDRED Simple, as each blade of grass and each knot of rock, rooted in the depths of your inner obscurity. Complex, as each individual flake of snow that lives and dies in the course of the gauntlet of your flesh. The mist that suffocates; your breath that summon the air, calling out for my eyes, so that you might know me, and I might know you. I believe because you are there, and for no other reason than because I can see your beauty. The false strength of your nature, and I alone know how you weep, and understand the tears that flow from your blind eyes. The purity and serenity that surround you seen so wrong, like an apology for your presence, though I am not intimidated. The tangled chaos that smolders within, yearning to stretch into the brilliance of the dawn, if not for blindness. You will only feel and imagine, and I, I desregard the common wonders. But for you my eyes will understand and open fully. But I do know you, though I'm not sure the way in which you know me. Yet still yo do. You persist in my weakness and I in yours. Tangible and visible, you are the evidence of my shadow.
Brian Matthews
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