and I’m sitting here,
and my mind is blank, save for you.
I want to write about
something captivating, intriguing, important – and all I can think about is
you.
Still you.
After all this time,
you.
The same you, the
very same.
You.
Memories ebb away,
blurred, distorted. Feelings remain unscathed. Progressively veiled, yes, but
consistent in strength.
Can you feel this
fire inside me?
Your light burns
bright and blistering in my soul.
So beautiful, yet so
destructive.
It needs no fuel nor
air.
This self-sufficient
flame contains the very best of you. The parts that you gave to me by
accident and then hid away so suddenly.
But you cannot steal
them back now, it’s too late, they belong to me.
And I will remember.
You can never forget.
To walk away is
sacred.
To revel, a sin.
But I am too weak in
your presence.
Your righteousness, a
magnet.
Your sexuality
radiating all over me.
Your weaknesses shielded
by a glistening halo.
And your scent.
Your scent – it’s
everywhere.
It seeps through my
logic and suffocates my doubts.
Drugging my sanity.
Contaminating clarity
so carelessly. Heartlessly. Effortlessly.
And you don’t even
know it.
And you can never
know it.
