How do I tell the world that a piece of my heart has stretched out so far, that it no longer feels
normal?
That a part of me didn’t just leave—it stretched until it hurt. The pain, the gasp, the pull.
I bring only pain into your life.
My love tortures you.
And still—selfishly—I want to ask you to torture me too.
But only with the kind of torture my love brings you.
Because that agony… that’s love for me.
Take revenge on me.
Burn me alive
But do it with my ways of torment.
Disturb my peace the way I disturb yours.
Let it be your love’s revenge.
How do I love you?
How do I explain the depth of it?
How do I pour my whole heart into a glass and show you
Look. It’s transparent. It’s yours.
My heart is yours.
My blood flows just for the hope that you might pass through it again.
Why am I so tough to love?
Why does my work work, but my love doesn’t love?
Will I always be alone, and alone, and alone?
Will I fade like the seasons
Or survive like fossils, hollow and still,
No soul, no life?
Will these lips ever smile again,
Or will they just tremble at the thought of laughter?
Will my hands ever hold anything again
When they were only made to hold you?
Will my eyes ever see the world again,
Now that streams of sorrow cover them?
Will my breath ever feel normal,
When our bond is racing toward something so uncertain?

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