What's the cure when nothing is enough?

fuck all of you.

Again

Pensive is a way to describe

though to which must my heart ascribe

To your body or to your mind?

The way we move in the distance -

The dance I do when I realize

That which there is to fear: You.

Feelings fail, and love I idealize

But something about him -

Like the winter's grasp on life,

Like the torrent's flow

And it's I who've caused this strife.

Perception's rouse: Everything is green-

Induced, not created

Felt, not thought

Realized, not understated.

With him everything is actuality and

Nothing is meaningful.

I want to tell you. I can't explain why and I know (or at least think I know) that it would be a bad idea if I did. But I haven't talked to you, haven't spoken, haven't texted, haven't IMed. Yet, somehow, it feels like there is nothing else in my head. I miss you.

I want to tell you. You are the only person I want to tell. You are the only person I can't tell. I wish this weren't the case. You have been the constant ache in my head, the constant pain in my heart and the constant thing that I've wanted. I miss you.

I want to tell you. I want you to see. I want you to stop being oblivious. I want to stop assuming you are oblivious and hope that on some level you know. I want to see you. I want you to come back. I want to stop being selfish. I want to stop thinking about you. I miss me.

I want to tell you. And I want to see beauty again.

Your veil is clear and I hope you know this.

Thinking outrageously I write in cursive.

Immaturity

That's what I want. To be able to turn to someone and say, "Hey, babe. I love you."

And I want to be able to actually mean it. Each time I say it.

I miss you

I don't know how to say this. Hell, I don't really ever know how to say anything. But you are the first, and you won't be the last. I'm going to keep telling myself that, keep opening that wound instead of letting my memory of you cover me like the only bandage I thought I would ever need.

You are amazing. I am always the first to admit that and I miss you more than I thought anyone could ever be missed.

I hope you never find out what I've realized, yet at the same time, I feel as if I should tell you. Should tell you how important you've been and how hard it has been since I've been missing you. And as I sit here now, in great need of a caffeine fix, it's never been more clear. Because with 90 pages of reading and various pages of writing left to do I find myself thinking not of Virgil, or of literature, but instead my mind keeps wandering back to that same image of you in the park. The same image that has haunted me and my dreams since I've come back to the dreary, sad place I call home.

I know that what I want is impossible. I've known that since I met you. But somehow, my heart, my mind, whatever you want to call it, still aches for you - not even as more than what we've been, but just to see you. I hate this. And I feel like it's something that everyone has gone through or will go through.

For now, though, I just need to forget about what can never happen. I need to meet someone else, revel in their inner and outer beauty. But it seems as if no one will ever come.

I just need to find a way to forget about you because I know, deep down I know, that you won't come back. You are going to stay in your place, your sanctuary - and I in mine. There is no compromise on this. And it is here where I find myself at a crossroad. I don't know where I want to go.

And the cost to forget, the cost of my escape, my drugs, my depression, and the cost of you is becoming far too high.

On safe return

I thought seeing everyone again would help ease my feelings. But, in truth, it's made me miss you more.

touches of grey

he'll survive.

And it would have been perfect.