The Morgan

She’s a fickle thing. Moving, changing, redirecting. Like aurora lights shifting in and out of new coloring. She can never settle on one thing. Her eyes reflect the promise of the horizon. Her mind lingering on the hope of new experience. Oh, she loves you, my darling - to a near obsessive degree, have no doubt. But she’s never relied on you loving her back to thrive or feel complete. She compliments her own soul. Detached from the strings of this world’s acceptances. Her wings spread far, determined to reach it all, know it all. Her love and her lust for wisdom is the most demanding force of all. She longs to fall in love with the void. To understand the infinite and become one with the divine. As wonderful as you are, my sweet you can not hold her down. You are not that powerful. You can not trap a wild heart any more than a man alone stands a chance against a wild, hungry lioness. But whisper the language of loyal love. Call to her spirit with your promise of devotion and she might just give you her heart of her own accord. Be careful, though, my darling: a wild heart is dangerously beautiful to behold.