I wish that the silence would cease its incessant screaming.
Because I miss, all honesty and maturity aside, something beyond.
But what I see is broken.
A bittersweet revelation that proves a love unreal.
Broken vases, glorified dust, pieces thrust upon the ground.
Growth is perceived, but shattered pieces only continue to splinter.
The gradual cutting of ourselves against our jagged edges.
Making, in no uncertain terms, an impossibility.
I won't choose it; love still has to make sense.
But you linger so near in my thoughts, and in my heart.
Agitating my fear that I hope will not always make me wonder:
Is it love how one knows all along yet dares not ignore the siren song?
I hate how you inspire me.
Just by being you.
You don't need me.
Stop saying that you do.
