Dear beloved, Bobby: Stand not at my doorsteps, for you may not find me waiting; I shall meet you half way, and save you more than a mile; hold not my heart, into your own keeping; For you may find it burdensome, to match the rhythms within the smile. Wear not my emotions, for they be far too complex; hold not the snow in your hands, for they may seep through your fingers; catch not my spirit, for the elusive cannot be contained. But I will walk with you, to the land of the midnight sun; in the plays of light and shadow, through the diverging wooded path, though harsh, unrelenting it may be; But I cannot promise you my future, For it does not belong to me! It belongs to the house of death. Yours sincererly, Dearest :)