This is the underground. Amidst the bacchanalian revelry, the spiked goblets of tropical ambrosia, the lithe shadows intertwined under the peeping moonlight, you'll find it. Maybe you won't see it at first. But it's there. Sometimes it will warm you like a smile; other times it will crush you like a clenched fist. You might mistaken something else for it -- that happens often. You miss the signs, the small tiny shoots darting out of the soil. But one day, it will grow. It will sprout from your chest, tear your soul from its flesh. It's a pain and ecstasy you have never felt before, as if the beating, bloodied fist within you has pummeled its way out of its cage.
One day, you'll find it. If I am still here.
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