I’m loathing most of your history. Hesitation, but then you siphon me. Your potential, well I’ll indulge in that. Violent timing explains the aftermath.
I’m hanging out with me. And you’re a vacant chair. A chosen compromise. This space we rarely share.
With my envy, I steal glances.
Moderation loving. I’ve been hardened by the circumstance. We knew this was coming.
Don’t gasp at the predictable. A comforting lie can’t last. Preordained checklist of this awkward love it’s so sad. Hold it. Hold it all in. Let it build up, oh, build a bomb. Blow it. Blow it away. Clear it all out, just end it.
Like a butterfly cupped in my hands I peek in, to see beauty trapped. Confined it flutters then. It leaves behind colourful dust.
Why am I so curious? This territory is dangerous. I’ll probably end up at the start. I’ll be back in line, with my, broken heart.
This is one side, my conventional side. An attraction to tradition, my vintage disposition.
Re-read, re-write, redo, undo. I’m stuck on this page.
If you bore me, then I’m comfortable. If you interest me, I’m scared. My attraction paralyses me.
Subconsciously motivated natural instinct. Alter nature for the pleasure. Orthocycline.
Now all those simple things are simply too complicated for my life