Passion

Is is a powerful thing, I have seen it on the streets, I have heard it from the balcony, I have seen it in the church, the Haven, and the beach. It does not have to be a physical passion, it can be an emotional passion.

That which one expresses in passion can be expressed reversely but still have the same power, the same meaning. It is not long ago that I have felt the touch upon my lips, upon my neck... to feel such passion surge through me, when not long before I felt such passion and rage at seeing beauty destroyed.

Curious that when I learn of emotion, finally to feel love and to have it felt in return that I feel rage and desperations ever more. It is a cruel fate, a cruel game... but it is in my head...

There it shall stay, truly if I were to let it loose I would not be a good woman. I would be no different than the other women, those floozy, loose, jazz listening women that this city has claimed to fame.

But it is difficult... I will admit that... and I am frightened... change is difficult as it is, but change in myself, that is nearly unheard of, at least not so quickly.

I blame the city and those within it, those that drive my darkness to the surface and those that would see me plucked and burned.