Dear beautiful agony,

A part of me wanted so badly to be loved by you, validated by you. Yearning is truly an encompassing black hole – strong enough to but grow deeper with your occassional reciprocation and my growing elusive fears and insecurities. Every day passed longer than the last, the cold stone of dragging incompetence and metaphorical distance – the pure physicality and mentality of our always illusion. Dark brown eyes and smooth thinness, shrouded porcelain and so bleakly alive – sharply breathing into the dry expanse within me. Hollow – (staring into walls), licking, dreaming of the trace scars on my arms – something enigmatically dangerous. You probably will never know this unspoken desperation was truly the closest to obsession I’ve ever come to realise – how many hours just silently chaotically still – so many eye of the whirlwind nights beside my conscience contemplating, moulding, without sufficient material. Your oblivion and my fixation – hurting me in ways which I could only learn from.

And I have yet to forget, to embrace, to accept the difference. It’s true we want what we can’t have; the untouchable chase lasted an exteriorly perceived novelty. I memorised each previous detail, knowing you discarded any of mine. Estimating the factors you may have already known – controlled absence counteracting with the shame of my transparency – minutes merge into hours without verbose acknowledgement. The long, wide space between us an awkward silence, timed waste, how badly you made me think it was your fault, but whose fault had nothing to do with the way you changed, us revolving numb as admired strangers in a sore burned universe. Turning over the stars to see it’s a black light sky, when your face mirrors into my still bitter heart.

Your once or never love

[*this is addressed to no one. I stress, NO ONE.]