That Strange, Twisted, Torn Love. That Conflict

You Are So Close, And I Can’t Reach You.

Dissonance, N. Nights When I Need To Sleep And You Can't. Days When I Want To Talk To You And You Won't. Hours When Every Noise You Make Interferes With My Silence. Weeks When There Is A Buzzing In The Air, And We Both Pretend We Don't Here It.

It Doesn't Have To Be On Valentine's Day. It Doesn't Have To Be By The Time You Turn Eighteen Or Thirty-three Or Fifty-nine. It Doesn't Have To Conform To Whatever Is Usual. It Doesn't Have To Be Kismet At Once, Or Rhapsody By The Third Date. It Just Has To Be. In Time. In Place. In Spirit. It Just Has To Be.

Love And I Once Had A Great Relationship, But I Fear We've Broken Up. It Cheated On Me, Wrecked My Heart, And Then Went On To Date Other People. A Lot Of Other People. And I Can't Stand To Watch It, Since Love's Going To Cheat On Them Too.

I Feel Such A Tenderness For These Vulnerable Nighttime Conversations, The Way Words Take A Different Shape In The Air When There's No Light In The Room.