….this is me dwelling. this is me wondering. this is me feeling. strong, intense, hurt, passionate.

this is everything i am, viscera, thoughts, spirit, emotions, soul, traits collected over a lifetime.
they’re spilling before you. pooling, coagulating at your feet. but that is a lie. this isn’t truth. this is wrong. you know it. i know it. we both do.

these are imperfect analogies. these are flawed metaphors. this is me attempting to express in words what i feel, what i see, what you make my soul feel.

this is tragedy. these are broken feelings. this is beautiful. gorgeous breakdown. fraility communicated in such pretty pictures, in such lovely images.

no, this wouldn’t be worthwhile. no you wouldn’t be what i need. you are unattainable. that’s what makes you beautiful. that’s what makes this beautiful. it’s also what makes this wrong.

i love this tragedy. the blood. the broken, shattered little pieces of me. jagged edges of my heart. glittering before you.

i don’t love you. not really. i don’t want you. not really. i don’t feel you. not really.

it’s okay. because neither do you.

that’s what makes this beautiful.

they’ll tell our story around campfires, spell it out in the stars. the beauty, the tragedy, the not-love, not-want.
we’ll be legends you and i. we’ll be heroes in the tale of our own twisted love story. we’ll be wrong. we’ll be beautiful. we’ll be complete. you and i. me and you.

as long as you refuse my hand, the way you refuse my heart. as long as you never shift from your pedestal. never expose a blemish, never hint at imperfection. as long as you don’t love me. as long as you don’t want me. as long as you stay you.