Coming down

Torn between the craft and cast of the ideals I molded from the cooled steel that dripped from my eyes when the heat of your heart turned their fires into streams of incomprehension. What am I now to call shuddering moments of certainty that felt so warm within you? The door, whose key should never have been mine, but in the fleeting moments in which it was, it gifted me entrance to a place, space and sensation I cannot call anything less than the home I was always certain to be mine. Were I to wish any other moment above it, I would be lying to the deepest cove of my being.