I'm drawn to that somber side. It weakens me with emotional commotion. I want to touch a fragment of your being that none has witnessed. I want too much. An all or none response. An intrinsic desire of perfection, immaculate design. Brought up on a diet of the impecancy of love. I almost know it exists. I'll find you one day. Until I do I'll try and shape the unwary. Fool's errands, but I will pull them as far as they'll stretch to flawlessness. Sanding their edges until they fit as well as they could in that gaping darkness in my soul. I don't know why. So much falls beneath that category. I discover who I am through each soul I have loved. What they bring to me, happiness or scorn, and how I fare.
Don't give up. I'm only starting to see the gravity of your situation. the extent of your damnation. In short I don't blame you for your frivolous disposition. I blame myself for not being enough to change it. That came out wrong. I can't, nor do I want to, change you. I just wish I was insentive enough to make you wish to change. Or maybe change is non-existant. I want you to grow. You're playing a static and stagnant role whilst I am flourishing and thriving. I know I'm not the same as I was when we were first in love, but the change is amplified relative your inert stance. I've always cared about you, but that too has been altered by the hand of circumstance. I've known countless feelings for you, attachment, love, lust, caring, anguish, concern. I've always felt something for you. Now it's stronger than ever before. No more silly juvenile notions of "love". I care for you like a sister, a mother, a lover, a friend. You say you don...
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