Behind blue eyes . . .

 I solemnly confess to being more shaken than I care to recall. You see, I've always had a fascination for Order, the Jedi over the Sith, Light over Dark and that whole thingy. Yes, the occaisional forays into Vader-worship and Hannibal Lecter-idolising were . . . the exceptions that prove the rule. Lawful (occasionally chaotic)-good at the end of the day.

 Case in point:
   Today, 12:30. Weather suddenly too warm. Gariahat Pantaloons.
 Blue Eyes comes up, brainless head lifting up with a smile as I emerge from shadows (hah). Well, what can I say? The quest for my lost Grail continues - the ever-despairing search to unite the beautiful mind and the beautiful smile. Always seeking for the once-attained perfection that has been swept away into the West. Leaving the greys, the lonesome dusks and smoldering embers that vainly recalled what once was, and never more will be.
      The current specimen is . . . an urge I have indulged in. A passing similarity to the Temple's name, a simple soul and a smile that dredges up forgotten memories. Flashes of tucking in the blanket and fluffing pillows before a quiet 'goodnight', of wistful glances, photo-sessions and brimming mirth. As my Infernal friend observed, "You are hopeless."

  Anyway, the reason why I am shaken today to the core of my being: continued.
  Blue Eyes clad in sky-blue T (no surprises there) and three quarters,
  We retire gratefully to the coolness of pantaloons. Sits curled up with her legs folded to one side. Then comes my Fall into the Dark Side. On the paleness of the calf there was an oval patch - a faded scar. I glanced and glanced again. Unable to tear my eyes away from the light-brown Medusa. Gripped by an insane desire to grasp it, to clutch, to caress. Madness!
    I have never enjoyed S-n-M and other such morbid manifestations of the human psyche. Then why the obsessive desire to see how that wound was made, to be the one to make it, to be the one to nurture it's gash on the smooth curve...
  No, the monster stirring in me has to be held in check. Somehow managed the proper responses to the usual banal banter - lecturer-bashing, how reunions with school buddies are about the greatest thing ever, who the hell is Manasi Scott, hope you enjoy Beyond barriers; you're not coming? No sorry - family stuff.
   Blue Eyes' eyes are a rich dark brown, like burnt almond-skin. With black streaks. She had come straight from sleep. I noticed that some of the sand was clinging to the left eye's corner. Strangely fascinated by what would generally repel me instantly.

 Kaz calls. Godsend, I think. Only chap with some . . . erm, firsthand experience. Bugger eggs me on! Damn, like I need any encouragement!

   Feel the path diverging at my feet, past constrictions falling away in this terrifyingly new maelstrom of sensations and intentions. Blue Eyes . . . the Temple . . . and all my other lost Grails are tumbling together now. I can't hope to sort it out now - the usual attempts at logical analysis are leaving me more turmoiled than ever before. The temple's doing psychology . . . but this is too drastic a thing to reveal. The rant blog must be my sounding board.
 Tomorrow I plan to read this and glean some insight into what triggered this, and the way to cease this thing.
 Goodnight!