In my core I desire a love that burns and aches through me. But I am so sheltered now, in my nest of years, that the outward me is a thing of sharps and edges.
How would you be able to grasp such a thing without being stabbed and bled? And even through that thicket, should a path be made or evident, what could anyone share with me?
A love of the darker nature of things? The spoils but not the work? A hope to hold, a hope to need, a hope for pleasure and shared silence. To love the beauty of a thing, but not need to own it?
That choices will be easy or simply made clear. That strength would match strength and become more.
All of this is clear in my desire but in action I am either too hesitant or overbold. A silence where there should be speech. Inaction where a gesture would win all. A rose given too soon, too much. Romantic verse and tokens given because doing so lightens my heart but without consideration for theirs.
I’m a mess. A jumble. Wanting the perfect acceptance of love in a novel, but knowing how unlikely it is. And still unable to keep myself from desiring it.
Pelgris 