The thing is is that I loved you, perhaps not on my knees or with my shoulders back and my gooseneck vulnerable to your penetrating scythe, but I still loved you. I loved you more than I love the few I love most. We had history we’ll forever recall. You kissed me and I swear to the God who doesn’t love you that two worlds collided and you know the Earth was originally seven times smaller than what we stride to perfection upon.
Now we exist without unison, creating a crater filled with constructs of disaster.
What I want you to know and anyone else who can detect my passion for us is that I love you in the sense we both understood dichotomously. With you I’m in my mind, without you I’m out of it—now I hope you see how much you mean(t) to me.
— The Uncaring
No comments:
Post a Comment