A Fairytale  

Once upon a time… 

There was a boy and a girl. They met and fell for each other in spite of the distance and many bumpy roads along the way. They were not unlike other newly married couples, they loved each other and were enjoying their life together. 

They had been on the move are several years in order to collect waves of feelings. Although it seems, that everything they had done up until now has been towards setting up a home. 

Perhaps they must be at work with it as much as possible, as much as they can; once it’s done that house, knowing it will be for the progress of civilisation and for the consciousness of humanity. 

They should not be distracted there for hither; or to add depth to the water to those who refuse all things on the earth except what benefits others in the moment.  Instead they will carry their  love with strength and courage and not let it expire with exhaustion of another; or trivial things that matter not. 

Again, her hope was not to be a distraction, to him, but to encourage his greatness. To come together by habit, of being all; and to the many and adaptable to all things. 

There was her hope of him creating something epic; perhaps it will be a fairytale central to it’s core, and even with caution if it should need it. 

To continue his writing and perhaps publishing all of his letters and stories.  Although sometimes she didn’t think he knew the magnitude or understands the latitude of his great works. 

When he is ready to write again; she thought and somehow she knew one day he would create the manuscript of experience; beneficial not only to the souls of others, but for himself as well.  

Only if it were that easy to create, and be it to the expense of others and self. 

Last night she saw him in a different light and She could see that he wax becoming more; with insight in all things, generous of habit; and with time some great inspiration would eventually be penned one day. 

She had no doubt he could be sincere in his literary works; maybe creating something divine, with a profound concept of life with the attention to all life’s mysteries and to tell all the lessons about what he has learned about the importance of existence and the human condition. 
And In his own time, darling… For they always called each other, “darling.” 

“Even if you never get to write, then,” she said. 

Then he said, “Darling; “After all, we still have each other, love and our own little happily ever after.”

The End.



“Be patient and tough someday this pain will be useful to you.” – Ovid
When bodies trembled passionately, hungrily,

In the enchantment of moments where every stroke is maddening.

In the pleasure of inciting thrusts, pumping and clutching,
Releasing the mind of its imagination so beautifully and unbelievably in the hardness of learning, to the purpose of understanding. 

It is to that capacity of the intellect, with the aid of the body and the senses; alongside reason which exist that is enables us to have insight. 

To add substance to words and to concepts, to make use of. It’s not only see, but to perceive the essentially quality of being with rational thought, reason and logic imagination and originality. 

Understanding enables us to add new ideas under a concept, words. and synthesise different elements from different ideas and concepts. 

it is creative reasoning enabling us to analyse, to constructively criticise helping us to see immediately when its enough. 

It means to have temperance for ingenuity, what time , continuous strife and practice in themselves cannot give us. 

And to that reason, it to that purpose which makes us unique, lovable and different. 

Myths Retold by Ovid

Circë and Scylla, from Greek mythology as retold by Ovid. Scylla, was the daughter of a river god, loved by Glaucous. 

He was also loved by the sorceress Circe. While Scylla was bathing in the sea, Circe poured a potion into the water which caused Scylla to transform into a monster with four eyes, six long necks equipped with grisly heads, each of which contained three rows of sharp teeth. 

Her body consisted of twelve tentacle-like legs and a cat’s tail while four to six dog-heads ringed her waist.

And through him, rendering her powerless,

Looking at the pillars and arches around the immense dome—they are trompe l’œil, 

Perhaps his love of classical trompe l’œil is sometimes a little bit more precious,

She lay as if mesmerised, physically entranced,

By the pleasurable sensations rippling wildly.

And then he’d taken her hand and placed it,

On his naked hardness, his hand covering hers,

Enclosing her hands around his immense,

As she lay in her transformation, dying for him. 


Unwrapping warmly at the touch, I could feel Spring was on its way, 

A feeling of passion deeper than between the depths of all the oceans,

Then, there was the love, too;

It would be forthcoming, and into the warm, glutinous moist earth,

Senses mixing intoxicating waves, Power to the strength of inner excitement; 

Just wanting our passions and heart to be the the best things about us…

With an eager surging.

Woman and Man

The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,

He too is all qualities, he is action and power,

The flush of the known universe is in him,

Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance becomes him well,

The wildest, largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him,

The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,

Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself,

Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here,

(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,

No matter who it is, sacred – is it the meanest one of the laborer’s gang?

Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?

Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you,

Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession, The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight?

Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,

For you only, and not for him and her?

– Paul Cava



How does one become lovable; maybe it’s when we love and giving and maybe it when we so loved that admiraton is returned. 

It’s so hard to imagine about a life without you and how life could have been so different if we had never met. 

Learning to love someone as we do now takes time; the discovery of another, and it’s finding; of having been one of the greatest impacts of a lifetime. 

And I can’t even think about life without you now; it’s the one thing that I cannot even want to begin to imagine. I don’t want to. 

You’re the one constant; and my something; my everything; coming in with faithful words capturing my heart.

With a mind like an anthology, and full of knowledge; and it’s as if you have always known that words don’t have to be written in a book to be loved or understood. 

Wisdom is like love and it can be intoxicating, and I think it makes you even more lovable and to me that is plenty; plenty just like the stars above. 

Written in the Stars

Need you, because I want to 

Not because I have to,

Its a choice to choose someone,

To accept, and to be taken; loved

My one desire is you. 

To hold the taste,

In my hands,

Taking firm, hard,

And length, to be wanted

Is everything and rare,

Warm of desire, 

Passion of my passion. 

To hear you sigh,

Worship on bended knee,

The nectar at the ready,

Your pleasure, my purpose 

A vision with my own eyes,

I have seen it,

It was written,

In the stars.